


Grand Theft Bulma II: West City

by Ronniemandias



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Three Year Gap (Dragon Ball), and beyond obviously lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:44:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 82,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronniemandias/pseuds/Ronniemandias
Summary: After returning home from a whirlwild adventure on Namek, Bulma has re-adjusted to living back home, but unfortunately, someone left this grouchy, shitty, previously mass murdering Vegeta in her house, which is annoying because now she has to be responsable for this Vegeta. It's especially annoying because she's kind of grown to like the crotchety little bastard.Famous 3 year gap, and beyond, a little. This is mostly just an exploration of fun domestic stuff, and character development/relationship development. This is a sequel to Grand Theft Bulma, where Bulma ended up with Vegeta on Namek and played a more active role, there is already some kind of relationship between them, but they're both too proud to admit it. You don't have to read GTB to understand this, but it's a good idea if you just want context.





	1. DAY 0

The crash shook Capsule Corp.’s headquarters, and family pictures jumped off the mantle with a clatter. The lights flickered, and the Earth groaned.

“Deary me, what was that?” Bunny called, sticking her head out from around the kitchen corner. “Sounds like I might have to put on another pot of tea.”

Bulma shot to her feet, fumbling to catch her phone before it hit the ground. Yamcha kicked his chair aside, and he leaned over the railing, squinting against the midday glare at a swirling plume of smoke spewing from the other side of Capsule Corp. He vaulted the railing, and his shirt ripping from Bulma’s fingers as she tried to hold him back.

“Ugh! Yamcha, come back here!”

Yamcha bolted around the corner, vanishing beneath the tree lined paths and across the lawn. Bulma threw her hands up. “Fucking  _ hell! _ ”

Bulma wrenched the balcony doors open, skidding down the hall, Bunny’s sing song voice following her down the stairs: “Sweetie, be careful about running in the house!”

She jumped the last stairs, and landed with a thud, her ankle burning. An alarm sounded distantly in the labs, echoing across the grounds. Sucking in a breath between her teeth, Bulma throws open the door to front drive, her shoulders hunched.

Oh, it better not be who she thinks it is. It better not be that little twerp, after all this time, after all these weeks and months—it would be just  _ typical _ !

Smoke rose in a column from the corner of the grounds, wafting between the labs and warehouses and sullying a perfect afternoon. The smell of burning plastic and churned wet earth caught in the back of her throat, and her heart pounded nervously despite herself. Her legs trembled, and Bulma steeled herself with a deep breath, forcing white knuckled fists down by her sides. The garden opened up onto the manicured lawns, the smoke parting and revealing the sad remains of a Capsule Corp. brand ship sagging between the neat brick paths.

Dad was going to have a  _ fit _ !

An angry scream rose in her throat and she quashed it down with a bitter smile. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being angry, not now. He didn’t deserve anything now but the freezing venom forming in the pit of her stomach.

Adjusting her skirt, and pushing her hair back behind her ears, Bulma picked her way down the path between the flower beds towards the twisted wreckage of steel and plastic. Yamcha stood on the lawn, knees bent and his fists ready, and as the dust cleared, a dark haired, stout figure stalked down the ship’s entry ramp. Somewhere inside the ship, alarms wailed. 

Vegeta jumped to the ground, and the ship groaned.

Yamcha cleared his throat. “V-Vegeta! You’ve got some nerve showing up here! What do you want?”

Vegeta paused mid step, fixing Yamcha with a heavy scowl, and Bulma saw him flicking through the mental rolodex in his brain to place a name to the face, and then promptly give up.

“I was hoping that idot Kakarot would have returned, but I can see I’m disappointed again.”

“W-what? Are you telling me you didn’t find him out there?”

“Why would I waste my breath telling you anything?” Vegeta’s voice cracked like a whip, and Yamcha’s spine went ramrod straight. Vegeta’s fists tightened, ki crackling between his fingers, and Bulma clicked her tongue, and placed her hands artfully on her hips.

“Hey guys, what’s that  _ awful _ smell?”

Yamcha wheeled around, going white, and Vegeta’s head snapped in her direction.

They locked eyes, and a muscle above his brow twitched. He watched her close the distance, his gaze sharp as shrapnel, and when she pulled to a halt, the ki came off him in waves. Bulma settled back on her heel, regarding him.

“Oh! It’s  _ you! _ ” She prodded his chestplate, right between his pecs.

He slapped her hand away with a growl; but, she noted with a smile, it was light.

“Don’t you hurt her!” Yamcha warned, taking up his stance again, Puar cowered behind his shoulder, but Vegeta’s gaze didn’t waver.

Bulma shook her smacked hand dramatically, placing it back on her hip. “ _ Yuck _ , Vegeta, you smell like wet dog! When was the last time you bathed? Have you not changed that whole time?”

“It’s none of your damn business, woman!” He seethed.

“Pfft, fine, whatever.” She eyed the gaping hole in the chest plate, still burned around the edges. Leaning back, she gestured towards the house with gracious flare. “Well, allow me to direct you to the nearest shower.”

“Bulma,  _ be careful _ ,” Yamcha squeaked.

“Yamcha, shut up!” Bulma snapped, stepping over the camellia bushes and onto the path. She took a few steps, before whipping around again. Vegeta glared at her, shaking on the spot, and Bulma growled, “ _ what? _ Come on! Do your manners stink worse than you do?”

Vegeta’s mouth twisted, and she waited for the shriek of “Earth Woman” but he bit his tongue. Vegeta slammed his hands down rigid with a grunt, and stormed after her, making sure to step carefully over the bunches of camellias with a poisonous look. Behind her, Yamcha squeaked again. “What the hell?”

Bulma turned back to the house, heading up the path, Vegeta trudging along behind her. She resisted the urge to turn around and look at him, waiting until they turned a corner and heading for the door to the dining room. Finches twittered under the bushes, bees humming over the flowerbeds, the warm sun beating down on the back of Bulma’s head. She tilted her head to make sure there was still a second shadow, before she spun around on the spot.

“Where the hell have you been then, huh?” She hissed.

Vegeta stopped short of walking into her, his face sour. “What does it matter? I told your dumb friend I was looking for Kakarot.”

“He’s not my dumb friend, and you  _ know _ his name! And really? Is that all? You know you could have  _ asked  _ if you wanted to borrow the ship!”

“You would have just said no,” Vegeta said, pushing past her, and onto the patio. He lifted his hand to the door, paused, and immediately drew back his fist before Bulma ducked in front of him, and slid the glass door open. With a grunt, he pushed past her, making a b line for the upstairs shower. At least he remembered where  _ that  _ was.

Bunny sat in the kitchen, perched on a bar stool. She lowered the magazine she’d been reading, her rings glittering, as Vegeta stormed past her up the stairs. Her gaze returned to Bulma. “Oh, Bulma, isn’t that young man one of your friends from space?”

“Mum! Not now!” Bulma snapped, leaning on the bannister and shouting up onto the landing. “ _ Vegeta _ , you rat bastard _ , _ you better leave your stuff by the door so I can wash it!”

The bathroom door slammed shut and the house shook. Bulma huffed.

“Vegeta, huh?” Bunny questioned, closing the magazine, keeping a white fingernail in between the pages. “I remember him now, he was the stoic young man who borrowed your father’s neat little ship—!”

“ _ Stole, _ ” Bulma corrected, wandering back over to the kitchen. She tried to suck in a deep breath without Bunny noticing, but despite her fluffy air, Bunny’s gaze was sharp as steel.

“Mm,  _ borrowed _ . He brought it back just now, didn’t he?” Bunny mused. She turned back to the windows overlooking the gardens, and bobbed her head. “Oh, look, dear Yamcha’s coming back—! My, he looks like he’s seen a ghost!”

Bulma hid her groan behind a cough as Yamcha ran to the door, rushing inside. “Bulma! Bulma, babe, are you ok?”

Bulma’s mouth twisted at ‘ _ babe. _ ’

“Yeah, I’m fine, all in one piece. Vegeta’s just going to clog up the drain with hair and dirt.”

Yamcha rushed forward, taking her hand and lifting it to his face. “Are you sure you’re ok? He didn’t hurt you did he? Fuck, I can’t believe him! I’ll fucking kill him.”

Bulma snatched her hand away a little too fast, and Yamcha flinched. She leaned back on the countertop, sliding her hands back into her skirt pockets pointedly, before saying, “it’s fine, Yamcha, you’re lucky you don’t have a hole in your face.”

“What,  _ me? _ You’re the one who just started having a go at him!” Yamcha blustered, going red.

“Excuse me? Having ‘a go at him’? He stole—!”

“ _ Borrowed _ ,” Bunny interjected with a sweet, peach coloured smile.

“ _ Stole _ my dad’s ship without asking, and then he crash lands back into my backyard acting like he’s done nothing wrong!”

“He’s a murderer, Bulma, I don’t know why you think you can just say whatever you want to people! You can’t push him like that—!”

“Excuse me? Push him like  _ what!? _ ”

“My, does anyone here take lemon in their tea?” Bunny’s question slipped between them, and Bulma wrenched her glare from Yamcha’s slack jawed face.

“I’ll take a shot with it,” Bulma grumbled, earning a soft chuckle from Bunny.

“Now, now, it’s barely past twelve o’clock—Yamcha, honey, would you like some tea?” Bunny offered, holding up the kettle.

Yamcha looked between the both of them, and chewed his lip. Clearing his throat, he shook his head with a polite smile. “N-no, I’m fine, thank you though, Mrs Briefs. I think I might go and uh, let the others know.”

He caught Bulma’s eye, before he ducked out the kitchen and into the garden. He kicked off into the air, and Bulma realised she’d been holding her breath, and let it out with a sigh. Outside, a handful of Capsule Corp. employees dressed in hazmat suits headed for the growing cloud of smoke, and she recognised the squat grey haired form of Dr Briefs powering his way across the lawn.

“You must be glad that your friend is ok,” Bunny probed, her voice treacle sweet as she poured a mug of tea. “It’d be such a relief to know he’s safe! You were so worried about him only a few weeks ago with all that talk of fuel.”

“ _ Mum _ ,” Bulma sighed.

“And you had that dream about him,” Bunny cooed into the tea. “The one where you said you and him were married.”

Bulma’s hands slapped to her face, dragging her fingers down her cheeks with another moan. “It was a stupid  _ dream _ ! A nightmare honestly! Ugh, I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“Aren’t you going to go throw out those clothes of his?”

Bulma scowled, but Bunny’s too sweet smile grew, and she took a sip from her cup. “That’s what you were really planning to do with them, wasn’t it? My girl has never been one for washing clothes, especially not other people’s.”

“Fine, I’m going, _ I’m going _ , I get the idea!”

Carrying a bundle of neatly folded clothes under her arm, Bulma made a point to thump up the stairs, so that her mother, and more importantly, Vegeta, knew she was heading for the bathroom. Her hand settled on the door knob and she called, “I’m coming in for your shit and you can’t stop me so I’m just going to look at the floor!”

She pushed open the door, and hot steam spilled out. Bulma cleared her throat, heading to the little window high on the wall and forcing it open. The air cleared, and she eyed the bathroom. A pile of dirty once-white armour lay in the middle of the tiles, along with a tattered navy bodysuit, and boots and gloves. He hadn’t bothered to get a towel out for himself, she noticed, eyeing the empty towel racks. He didn’t think that far ahead normally, why would he have changed now?

She dumped the clothes onto the hamper, peering critically at the pink shirt on top, pressed and ironed by some loving and well paid hand. He won’t be happy with this, she thought, with a growing smile, before she turned to the pile in the middle of the room.

“Ugh, gross! Did you wash  _ once  _ while you were gone? Even just dunking yourself in some water?” Bulma gagged, picking up the bodysuit by the very edge and holding it as far away as possible. She thought briefly about throwing it out, but bridled at the memory of her mother’s comment. She opened the washing machine, and tossed the bodysuit inside.

“Hello?” She snorted at the fogged up frosted glass of the shower. “Are you even alive in there?”

“I heard you!” Came the trademark snarl, and the sound of someone hitting the shower tiles a little too hard. “You can leave now!”

“Why, yes master!” Bulma spat, kicking his boots into the corner of the room, next to the washing machine. “Anyway, prince jerk, I left some fresh clothes of you—I’ll be out on the balcony if you want to join me.” She closed the door behind her with a click, her hand resting on the handle. Her mouth curled into a treacherous smile.  _ Asshole. _

“Vegeta is nothing but trouble, he’s so unpredictable,” a familiar voice explained, floating in from the balcony. “It’s hard to know what his motives are.”

Outside leaning against the railing, Krillin adjusted himself, his hands behind his head. A pot of tea and a tray of handmade cakes had been laid out neatly across the the table by Mrs Briefs’ for her collection of favourite boys under the shade of a garden umbrella. They must have just returned, judging by the sweat on their skin, and Krillin’s flushed cheeks. Yamcha clutched at his tea, in the same floral mug Bunny always insisted on him using, staring down into the contents lost in thought. He shrugged, and drummed his fingers. “I don’t know what his deal is; he’s obsessed with finding Goku.”

“Poor guy,” Puar squeaked from her chair, reaching for one of the cakes.

“He’s used to getting what he wants, that’s all,” Bulma announced, sliding open the glass door fully and standing in the threshold and continued, “he’s like a spoiled little kid.” Behind her, she heard someone fumbling with the taps, and the shower suddenly cut off.

“Hey, Bulma!” Krillin grinned.

“Hey.”

“Haha, ‘spoiled little kid’, you mean like you when we first met?” Yamcha laughed.

Bulma’s eyebrow rose dangerously, and Yamcha went quiet.

“ _ Servant woman, I demand your presence! Where the hell are you? _ ”

Bulma nearly knocked herself out ducking her head back through the door. That little prick! That’s on purpose. He couldn’t go five minutes without being the centre of attention, could he?

“Stop yelling! And no, sorry, we don’t have one of those! What do you want?”

“ _ Bulma _ ,” Yamcha hissed, but Vegeta’s voice thundered down the hallway again.

“Where are my clothes? And where is a drying cloth?”

There’s a franticness to his tone that Bulma can’t help but smile at.

“Oh, do you mean a  _ towel _ , your highness?” Bulma grabbed either side of the door, leaning back into the hall, shouting at the bathroom door. “They haven’t moved since the last time you were here; it’s the cupboard under the sink! And I’m washing your clothes, I already told you and you told me to leave you alone!”

She slid the door shut, the glass shuddering, and turned back to the others. Krillin blinked in her direction, and Yamcha gulped.

“Man, Bulma, you know what I’m gonna say,” Krillin started, tentatively. “You’re feisty, we know, but Vegeta, he’s…”

“I handled him on Namek, I can handle him in my own home,” Bulma replied, pulling out a chair with a scrape and taking a seat beside them. A breeze blew, and the sweet smell of spring flowers washed over the balcony. Down below, West City sprawled between the hills and ridges, it’s towers reaching up into the clouds. Bulma leaned carefully over the side of the balcony, craning her head to get a view of the yard. Smoke had stopped billowing into the sky now, and Capsule Corp. employees crowded the crumpled ship, already clearing the rubble and broken parts.

“That’s just it though, Bulma,” Yamcha said. “You’d let a guy who killed who knows how many people, including a number of our  _ friends _ stay at your house? And you’re not at all concerned?”

Bulma snorted again. “Oh, like death has any weight anymore, and you know, I could say the exact same thing about Piccolo! Look, I don’t care about whatever pissing contest you were all having before he took off, but I’d rather he was staying here than just running amok somewhere in the countryside.”

“But he’s dangerous!”

The glass door slid open, and Bulma struggled to hide her delight. “He’s found them.”

Krillin frowned. “Found what—?”

“ _ Woman, are you out of your mind? _ ” Vegeta roared, his teeth bared. Krillin and Yamcha paled, and Bulma, with deliberate slowness, turned around in her chair with a bemused expression.

“Hm? What?”

“I am not wearing this monstrosity for another moment, find me something else!” Standing in the doorway, his shoulders hunched, she wondered for a moment if he’d just rip the crisp pink shirt he’s wearing. Yamcha and the others burst into laughter, and Vegeta shook, threatening to explode with the ferocity of a dozen nuclear reactors.

“Shut up, stop laughing! I’ve killed men for less than this,” he bellowed, the ki rippling down his arms.

“I think it looks stylish!” Bulma said with a wink, and Vegeta’s went beet red. “What’s wrong with it? You scrub up well!”

The corner of Vegeta’s mouth twitched and when he spoke, he lowered his voice to a deadly level. “You know exactly what’s wrong with it, you vile excuse for a woman. Is this your idea of a  _ joke? _ Does your savagery know no bounds?”

Bulma leaned back in the chair, kicking out the one beside her. Yamcha jumped back a fraction, inching his chair away as Bulma patted the empty seat. “It’s called fashion, dummy, not that you’d know anything about that! Anyway, you look handsome! Come on, have a seat.”

“No, I came here to look for Kakarot and that’s what I am going to do,” Vegeta growled.

With a dramatic sigh, Bulma selected a cake from the tray, and placed it on a napkin in front of the empty chair. She felt Vegeta’s eyes following the movement. “Yeah, and if Goku comes back, we’ll be the first to know.”

The chair scraped on the tile, and the others fell silent. Vegeta slumped into the chair, and snatched the cake up with a grunt. Leaning back, Bulma risked a gentle smile in Vegeta’s direction, watching him demolish the cake in a few seconds flat. Her shoulders relaxed, and she stretched her arms above her head, the sun spilling over her shoulders and front, and for the first time in months, it felt like everything was as it should be.


	2. DAY 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title for this series: VEGETA GETS TROLLED

The day the boy came, Vegeta had been confident in his eventual rise to Super Saiyan in his own time, but seeing that brat take out not only Frieza but Kold himself had cut him in two as well. He’d vanished after that, torn up the Earth and leveled mountains, working himself to the point of exhaustion until he collapsed onto the ground in the middle of the desert, that awful, neverending blue sky stretching out far above his head, and resigned to return to Capsule Corp.

He couldn’t stand it; the idea that there would possibly be another Saiyan out there, and another who had attained the level of Super Saiyan as well? It made his hands shake.

“Vegeta, sweetie, long time no see,” the woman’s mother chimed when he clambered through the sliding glass door. He fixed her with a glare, but she ignored him as always, her teaspoon clinking against the sides of her mug. She looked up over the top of her newspaper briefly to say, “be sure to wipe your feet before you walk on the carpet!”

Vegeta lifted his muddy boot and held it over the white carpet, ready to drag it in a big circle, but thought better of it. He slammed the glass door shut and the wall shuddered.

Bunny slid from her stool, clapping her hands together and offering him a gentle, familiar smile. “Bulma will be so happy to see you!”

“I don’t care,” he lied before he could stop himself. It was automatic.

Bunny continued, as if he had said nothing, gliding across the sparkling tile floors, and placing a single, fragile hand on his arm, “she’s tucked herself away in the lab for days on end! Oh, it’s so nice to have her home again, but I barely get to see her!” He willed himself to shake her off, but even though she barely touched him, he felt trapped in a vice. She guided him around the kitchen counter, sitting him in a stool with that ever present, fixed smile. “What do you feel like? I bet you must be famished after all that time away!”

His stomach growled at the thought of eating something other than scorched game, and he hid it behind a cough, clearing his throat. “As a matter of fact, yes,” he said, stiffly, but Bunny had already started to dig through the fridge, humming.

Vegeta eyed the kitchen and dining room, nothing about it had changed, though he didn’t expect it to. Pictures of Bulma and her vapid family lined the walls, pot plants, ceramics spilling over with cut flowers and other objects crammed every other available space. He relaxed, despite himself; nothing about this planet was comfortable or homey but he at least felt some sense of familiarity looking at the warm cream walls lined with photos and paintings, though it was missing one important element. The microwave whirred, and Bunny busied herself near the counter.

“Where’s the woman now?” He asked, suddenly.

“Locked away in her lab, sweetie, she’s been working on some big project.”

“Is that so?” Vegeta rumbled.

The microwave dinged, and Vegeta tried not to turn in his seat to see what she’d heated up. He hated that his mouth was already watering; the desert hadn’t exactly been bountiful. He glanced up at the calendar hung over the phone; he still wasn’t yet familiar with the Earth calendar, but he can see that the month had changed, and that it was half way through. A plate appears under his nose, and he jumps, jolted back to the present. He recognised it instantly as Mrs Briefs’ supposedly famous meatloaf, which she boasted about constantly, and though Vegeta had no other meatloaf to compare to, he was inclined to believe the hype. Bunny slipped a knife and fork between his fingers before he could rip it apart.

He wolfed it down before she stepped around the counter, taking a seat opposite him. The smell of her perfume nearly drowned out the meatloaf, and he curled his lip. Bunny doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she ignored it with the same stupid show of grace that she always has. “Oh, Vegeta, it’s so good to see you back! I was starting to miss you! That reminds me, Bulma told me to pass on a message to you if you came back.”

“Message?” Vegeta asked, crumbs flying. Bunny wiped the counter with a napkin.

“Mmm,” she nodded. “She said that if you come back to tell you that she doesn’t care that you left, she didn’t miss you at all, and that she was right about you all being a bunch of goons.”

Vegeta blinked at the juxtaposition between Bunny’s melodious tone and the harshness of her words. He chewed thoughtfully before saying, “hmph, and I suppose this was delivered screaming?”

“Oh, well, you know our Bulma, she’s very passionate. She also said that if you did come back she made some adjustments to the—oh… what did she call it again? I’m not good with that science-y stuff when she just lists it off like that,” Bunny said, wistfully, looking up at the ceiling and searching for words. “Oh, the  _ Gravity Room _ . That’s right—! She modified the old one and fixed it right up! She’s so clever.”

The knife slipped from Vegeta’s fingers. “She  _ what? _ ”

“She worked on it for days; she nearly forgot about poor Yamcha! Oh, he was around here less and less, I don’t know why she was being so rude to him—!”

“I don’t care about that useless halfwit!” Vegeta bristled, pushing the empty plate aside and jumping up, but Bunny’s icy gaze caught his.

She pat his arm, and he went completely still. “Oh, Yamcha is a lovely boy, maybe a little clueless but he means well—but Vegeta, dear, if you  _ are _ going to see her, may I make a request?”

Vegeta laughed. “You’d dare ask a favour from me?”

Bunny ignored him again, crossing the kitchen to the pantry. She reemerged holding two plastic containers, and somehow the containers ended up in both of Vegeta’s hands without him realising. “I haven’t seen my darling Bulma all week! I’ve been making dinner and leaving leftovers for her but she barely touches them, oh, would you be a kind young man and bring her something?” She pleaded, hands together in prayer, but the corners of her mouth twitched with something cunning. “Why, you could check out the project she’s working on at the same time! You two could catch up over a meal, I know you’re probably still hungry!”

Vegeta forced his back ramrod straight, holding the containers carefully. He tilted the closest one towards him, eyeing the packaging. He’d seen several of these in the bins whenever he’d happened to wander into the woman’s vicinity, though he’d never really bothered to learn what was in them. Bunny patted him on the arm again, and he flinched as if burned.

“Fine! If it gets you off my back.”

“Make sure you knock before you enter, dear!” Bunny called after him.

Vegeta trudged down the hall, turning one of the containers over in his hand and trying to figure out what was inside. It was food, he knew that much, but it felt like nothing. He worked his way down brightly lit halls and down the stairs. Holding his breath, he closed his eyes, reaching out between the tangled halls and hundreds of rooms, weaving between clusters of weak ki, pulsing with life. He let his mind go further, his awareness growing, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, until finally in the distance he felt a familiar pin prick of angry, irritated energy. He could sniff her out a mile away.

Opening his eyes, he stalked down the hall. Capsule Corp. employees, dressed in lab coats with lanyards swinging about their necks paled in his wake, backing up and whispering to each other as he stormed down the main corridor. There were always swarms of staff on the lower levels, infesting rooms and labs and scattering like vermin when he approached. The woman had once joked she would have to give the staff a psych evaluation to work there, just to make sure they could handle seeing Vegeta tearing down the hallway screaming. He’d scoffed and made some comment about blasting them all to another dimension at the time, but he’d laughed to himself later.

The woman always did say the most ludicrous things.

The hallway opened into a large, cavernous room, with windows opening up onto the sprawling Capsule Corp grounds, and doors leading to various facilities and rooms that Vegeta had little interest in. He set his eyes on a desk towards the wall, underneath the Capsule Corp. logo, and the dark haired receptionist peering at a computer.

“Where is she?”

The woman startled, steadying herself in the office chair. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she looked up, the colour draining from her cheeks. “Oh, it’s y-you! You’re back,” she gulped.

“Clearly.”

Somewhere behind him, some employees backed away, and lowered their voices, but he didn’t turn to see.

“I’ll… I’ll just let Ms Bulma, know, one moment,” the receptionist hazarded, before reaching for the phone. Vegeta leaned against the counter, watching the woman fumble with the receiver, and punch in three numbers before slamming it to her ear. Out of all the cretins employed by Bulma’s father, he tried his best to not be openly hostile to the receptionist, mostly because she was the only person apart from Bulma who knew the tangled mess of halls, offices and labs—she was useful.

“Miss? I know you said not to bother you unless it was an emergency it’s just... Uh. He’s back.” Someone shouted on the other end, and the receptionist jumped in her chair, holding the phone away from her. Vegeta’s face twisted into a sneer, and he was tempted to pluck the phone from her hands and address the woman himself. The receptionist adjusted her glasses, and put the phone down carefully. Vegeta watched her take a deep breath, thinking over all her life decisions and her future, before she addressed him. “Please, don’t be upset, but she said she’s very busy.”

“And where is all this great work taking place?”

The receptionist’s eyes flitted from his face to his torn and ragged clothes, and then to the containers under his arm. “Downstairs in the basement, Lab 1, but please, sir, don’t tell her I told you!” She blurted, and Vegeta’s smirk grew razor sharp.

He headed for the stairwell, and soon, he found himself in the brightly lit, sterile basement level of Capsule Corp, with corridors and hallways spreading out deep under the ground like some awful fungus. The lights buzzed overhead, the sound setting his teeth on edge, and he focused himself entirely on the spark of ki, growing bigger and sharper with every step until he realised that he was almost trotting. He forced himself to slow down, and approached a single, locked white door at the end of the hall.

He jiggled the handle, and it didn’t budge. Beside the handle, the electronic lock beeped hopefully, displaying a keypad, before Vegeta brought his fist down hard. The lock shattered, shooting sparks and smoke, pieces flying in all directions. He went to push the door handle down again, but remembered Bunny’s warning about knocking, so he kicked the door off its hinges instead.

“ _ Vegeta! _ ” A familiar voice shrieked, piercing the air. The door crashed onto to the tiles, and Bulma leapt from her work bench, ripping off her goggles. “You _ jerk!  _ Don’t you listen to anything I say? Did Imogen tell you I was here or did you threaten her?”

Vegeta stepped over the remains of the crumpled door and crossed the room. “Woman, you’re lucky I don’t blast this planet to pieces out of boredom!” He announced, pushing past her and around the work bench. He set the containers down and dragged a stool over with his tail.

Bulma pulled at her fringe with a scream. “You could have just knocked, Vegeta, for God’s sake!” She snapped, before stalking back around the bench, and taking her seat again. Bits and pieces of wire, scrap and primitive circuits lay scattered across the bench top, along with crumpled papers and blueprints, and larger bulky tools waiting to be used. Bulma snatched up her soldering iron again, her jaw set. “I don’t have time for you right now, yell about whatever you want and then buzz off!”

“I could reduce this lab to rubble to free up your schedule,” Vegeta suggested with a wicked look. Bulma paused, and threw down the solder again, glaring at him. The corner of his mouth hiked up more, and his tail curled when she placed both hands on her hips with a huff he knew was only partly real.

“Good luck having me repair your precious Gravity Room if you do that, prince shit!” She retorted, before her gaze snapped to the containers he’d placed between them. “What’s this?”

“Your insipid mother says you have been starving yourself, and by the looks of it, attempting to drown yourself multiple times,” Vegeta explained, lifting his elbow onto the bench and leaning into it. He’d mocked, but in truth, the woman did look haggard, even on Namek she’d managed to keep well and sleep. Her normally pristine hair was thick with oil and tied back in a messy knot, her skin paler than normal, but her eyes were still fierce.

“Oh, you’re one to talk! Fucking stumbling around here looking like death warmed up; where the hell did you go?” She asked, sharply, getting to her feet again, and walking to the otherside of the bench, flicking a kettle on. “Having another one of your big boy tantrums?”

Something feels off. The insults are there, scathing as ever but her stance is wrong. She kept her back to him, her shoulders hunched, so he prodded harder.

“Training, actually; you see, out in the desert is one of the few places that I can escape your shrill, incessant nagging.”

“ _ Nagging? _ ” Bulma repeated, snatching up both of the containers and placing them beside the kettle. She peeled back the paper lid on one, and Vegeta watched her movements carefully should he have to do this again. “Hpmh! Well, it’s better than listening to your constant complaining and arrogant rudeness!”

“Tch. Wretched woman!”

“Jerk!” The kettle bubbled over, and clicked. Bulma poured hot water into the containers, and rummaged around on the bench, searching, before pulling out two forks from a pile of papers. She stuck a fork in each container, and then dumped them both back on the bench between them, pushing one up under his nose. Her voice lost the edge, and grew softer. “Have you had noodles before?” 

“I’m familiar,” Vegeta growled, pulling the cup towards him. He pulled the paper lid off completely, and blinked against the steam. The smell caught him sharply in the throat, and he stifled a cough.

Bulma nodded to his cup, lifting her own closer to her mouth. “It’s not on the level of what mum makes but she knows I like them, and I doubt you’d care seeing as how you’d eat anything that wasn’t nailed down.”

They ate in silence for a moment, and Vegeta took stock of the lab. He hadn’t been in here much, only really to throw open the door and demand the woman do something useful and fix the droids or the Gravity Room, whichever thing had failed to withstand him first. The skeletons of half constructed machines lay under dusty sheets and tarps, shelves and cupboards overflowing with spare parts and tools. An old radio chattered in the corner, and an untouched cat bed had been laid out on the floor under a desk overflowing with papers.

“Did you just get back?” Bulma asked, frowning down at her cup.

Vegeta stuffed a mound of noodles into his mouth, nodding. “Yes. Where’s Kakarot?”

Bulma sighed, stabbing at her noodles and tossing her head. “ _ Goku _ went back to live with his  _ family _ , Vegeta, where he isn’t waited on hand and foot like certain other Saiyans I know.”

“Of course he wouldn’t be, he’s a low class wretch,” Vegeta replied, smoothly, and earning a frustrated growl from Bulma. He was getting closer to the root of whatever was driving her mother to ask favours of him. He hid his smile with another mouthful, emptying his cup. “If you’re so insistent about not doing your job then I’ll just drag him out of whatever hovel he lives in and kill him.”

“I wish you would, he hasn’t come around here for ages now, and he keeps avoiding me,” Bulma said. “It’d serve him right.”

Vegeta paused, regarding her.

“That’s because he’s a coward and he can’t handle you; besides you already have one bumbling idiot hounding after you, why would you want two?” Vegeta asked, selecting his words carefully, hoping to stoke some embers into action, and studied her face.

She lowered her cup of noodles, lips pursed. “Actually, he hasn’t been around either.”

“Oh, good!” Vegeta responded, laying out his favourite bait. “Maybe the weakling does have some sense after all.”

“I broke up with him.” When Vegeta only stared, Bulma sighed, angrily. “He’s not around because I told him I didn’t want to see him again!”

Vegeta chewed slowly, thinking again. She didn’t seem interested in continuing their verbal jousting anymore, and for the first time in a long time, she went quiet. Not the calm, good kind of quiet she slipped into when concentrating or happy, or the burning silent rage after an argument, this was numb to the touch.

“Oh?” He managed.

“Yamcha’s old news!” Bulma explained, quickly, pushing her cup aside and sweeping away whatever project she’d been working on to place her folded arms on the workbench. “I know you don’t care about anything that happens to me, but I don’t care if you don’t care, and you aren’t a gossip, so I’ll tell you; I woke up one morning and I realised that I couldn’t stand pretending I liked him, and turning a blind eye to all the things he did behind my back, and so I told him that I don’t give a shit about baseball and I never have and to delete my number.”

“So you both came to your senses, then.”

He waited for her yell, to throw something at his head like he wanted, but she laughed instead. She rubbed her eyes, nodding, staring down at her arms. “Yeah, yeah… I guess we did, huh?” Vegeta wiped his mouth, and made to jump off the stool to take his leave but the woman sniffed under her breath, and he stilled. “I was so stupid. I just really honestly thought that maybe, I dunno, after being brought back to life we’d go back to how it used to be when we were kids.”

Vegeta gave a long, slow blink, his face stony.

“I think with him being gone, I just got used to the idea of not having him around, and when he was back I slipped back into that Girlfriend position because that’s just… what I’ve always been,” she mumbled, her eyes growing glassy.

“Is that why your mother is recruiting me as go-between?”

“I just needed to keep myself busy,” Bulma admitted with a sigh. “Though now that you’re back to destroy the Gravity Room, the planet, or yourself, I guess I’ll have my work cut out for me until Android Doomsday.”

“I’m glad you finally see how important I am for the survival of your pathetic race,” he said with a lazy flick of his tail.

He dodged the fork aimed at his head and it hit the wall with a clang. “Asshole! You just can’t help yourself, can you? You’ve always got to say something to piss me off!” She yelled.

“It’s better than listening to you sniveling over a clown that doesn’t deserve it!” Vegeta yelled back.

Bulma reached back to slap him, but he caught her wrist deftly just like he’d done dozens of times before. He held her firmly, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep her in place. She moaned, stamping her feet like a child and throwing back her head with a pitiful whine. “It wouldn’t have even hurt you!”

“No, but I do find it annoying,” Vegeta replied. The woman twisted in his grip, trying to pull her hand from his, and he adopted his usual, apathetic scowl. “When you are done wallowing in self pity over that oaf; I’d like you to outline what changes you’ve made to my Gravity Room.”

“Ugh! _ Your _ Gravity Room, is it _? _ ”

Bulma gave up trying to muscle her way out, and went limp instead, letting her knees go loose and her head flop back. When this didn’t work either, she kicked him in the shin. “Woman,” he warned.

“ _ Fine _ ! I worked my butt off and I bolted that sucker into the earth so you can’t take anymore joyrides in it and I put a failsafe so when it gets to the new maximum of a hundred and fifty G’s it’ll cut off before you crush yourself!”

“A hundred and fifty?”

“Yes! And you better be grateful!’ She snapped, trying to stomp on his foot. He merely stepped out of the way, and held her a little further from his body. “Ugh! Come on, let me have this!”

“I’ll save my praise for when it works and doesn’t break within the first fifteen minutes of use.” She snatched at his tail, and he unwound it, keeping it well away from her clawing hands. In that moment, he’d forgotten about the desert, and the exhaustion in his bones and ache of his muscles. He grabbed the woman’s other wrist to stop her trying to hit him again, and spoke aloud a thought before it finished forming, “find yourself a better companion, woman. That weakling could scarcely hold a candle to you.”

He let go, and Bulma stumbled back, grabbing the workbench for stability. She blew a lock of hair out of her face, and straightened up with a huff. “And I suppose you think you could do a better job?”

“I don’t think, I  _ know _ ,” he said before he could choke down the words. “I’m not stupid enough to make you genuinely upset.”

Bulma’s eyes widened, and his cheeks boiled. He threw his hands down by his side, spun on the spot, and stalked off as fast as he could without breaking into a run. She called his name, but the blood in his ears drowned it out, and he hurtled back through the compound in a desperate attempt to drive her ki as far from his mind as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright that's two chapters up so enjoy em I have other things to do. Going to try and keep this as regular as I can, I have 50,000 words in the bank currently and I'm still going so I have at least a little back up.
> 
> In this house we Respect Bunny


	3. DAY 53-56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even stupid smelly idiots can succumb to cooties

The lights flickered again, and Bulma set down her mug with a scowl. She spun the study chair around, and ripped her headphones out of her ears. Something droned in the distance, a familiar mechanical hum that went day and night at the Capsule Corp. compound.

Dr Briefs looked up from a circuit board, the soldering iron still smoking. “I’m starting to think Vegeta might be a few cards short of a full deck,” he said through his moustache. “He’s going to blow the fuses again if he keeps going like this.”

“He knows that,” Bulma sighed, turning the page of a printed diagnostic report from the latest tests for Dr Briefs’ newest capsule car.

“Can’t you talk any sense into him?”

Bulma frowned down at the graphs and numbers, fiddling with the corner of the page. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me? You said it yourself, he’s crazy.”

The lights flickered again, and outside, the hum grew louder. Dr Briefs flicked the soldering iron off, and pushed his stool out from under the table. “Excuse me a moment, I think I might go ‘accidentally’ turn off the power at the fuse box.”

Dr Briefs shuffled out of the room, hands in his pockets. The cat shot out from under the table to follow him, slipping through the sliding doors just before they shut. Bulma leaned back in the chair, and closed the report, preparing herself for the inevitable tantrum when the power “mysteriously” shut off.

She reached across the table for her phone, glancing at the screen. A trail of messages from Yamcha glowed, and she locked the phone again with a sniff. Ever since they’d officially broken up, he hadn’t stopped messaging. It didn't matter that he was around every other day training, he still felt the need to text.

Bulma made to pick up the diagnostic report when the drone of the Gravity Room changed. The hum turned to a groan, and then a roar, the lights strobing overhead. Bulma jumped up, hand on the table. The windows shuddered in their frames, the tea in her mug spilled over, and the lights above her head burst with a distant explosion.

Oh  _ no _ .

She scrambled for the door, legs shaking. Her mother appeared in the hallway, looking around curiously. “Oh, my, Bulma what was that awful sound?” She asked, but Bulma tore past her, hurtling down the hall. She jumped the stairs, jarring her ankles, and threw open the glass doors onto the patio.

Smoke rose from the garden, between the palms and hedgerows, and her heart sank.

Yamcha appeared beside her, ashen faced, his training gi dark with sweat. “W-what was that?”

“Gravity Room!” Bulma snapped, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him towards the smoke. “Come with me!”

“Woah, woah, Bulma, it’s not safe!” Yamcha cried, trying to pull away.

She let go of his gi, and glared. “Fine! Then don’t help me!” She jumped the rose bushes, and sprinted across the grass, the smoke already clearing. She rounded a corner, stitch in her chest, and a pile of rubble stood where the Gravity Room used to be.

She heard panting somewhere behind her, and Yamcha appeared, sweating. “Jesus Christ!” He breathed. “He’s finally blown it up!”

“Vegeta!” Bulma called, jogging forward. The Gravity Room sagged on it’s side, cracked open like an egg, the supports that held the room torn from the earth. The grass smouldered, and tendrils of smoke rose up from the mound of warped steel, plastic and rubber. Bulma’s knees faltered, and she dropped to the ground, hands trembling.

“I knew this would happen!” Yamcha blustered from above her head. “He’s been trying to do the impossible!”

Mouth dry, Bulma instinctively reached for the shrapnel. “W-where is he?” She didn’t recognise her own voice. “ _ Vegeta? _ ” She called.

A bloody hand thrust up out of the rubble, and she reeled back with a scream. Yamcha caught her, pulling her to her feet. The debris shifted, concrete and steel shifting, and a figure got unsteadily to their feet, caked in dust and blood. Vegeta straightened up, chest heaving, and wiped his face with a jittering hand.

Bulma pushed Yamcha off her, taking a step closer. “Y-you’re ok?” She asked.

Vegeta reached up and ran a hand through his hair, dust coming off in a cloud. “Of course I’m fine,” he hissed between grit teeth.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing then, you dweeb? You almost wrecked the place and yourself!” Bulma yelled, starting forward and clambering over the remains of the Gravity Room to meet him. “What are you trying to prove!?”

Vegeta wobbled on the spot, and his legs shook with effort. He opened his mouth to respond, the sneering retort written all over his face, and fell back with a groan. Bulma paled, and dropped down beside him. He let out another, low groan, and she hauled him upright, dirt and blood smearing across her front. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t pass out on me!”

“I don’t—! I don’t need your help,” he wheezed. His muscles tightened under her hands, willing to pull himself free, but he couldn’t. He gulped, clearing his throat. “I’m fine.”

“You are  _ not _ fine.”

“I have t-training to do!” He growled, trying to pry her hand off him. His grip was weak, and she felt his fingers fumbling. “I’m fine! I’m a Saiyan!”

“You’re a complete wreck! Listen to me, we all know you’re a tough guy, but I’m getting you to the infirmary right now and there isn’t a thing you can do about it!”

He jerked away from her, slumping forward. “I don’t take orders from you!”

“I’m not giving you orders!” She barked back. “I’m trying to help you!”

“M-maybe he’s right, B!” Yamcha called from the edge of the debris, wringing his hands. “I mean, he’s a Saiyan! Goku was always got pretty beat up and was ok!”

Vegeta nodded, letting out a low, rattling breath. “See? Even the buffoon knows.”

“Yamcha, you’re not helping!” Bulma darted in front of Vegeta, hands finding his shoulders. He looked up at her, blood and dust congealing together across his face and chest. She licked her lips, hesitating, before she frowned and put his arm across her shoulders. He leaned against her, and she swayed, but held fast. “Come on. Enough arguing.”

Bulma thought briefly about taking him to the emergency department, but the thought of taking Vegeta outside the walls of Capsule Corp. killed that idea in its crib. She was lucky that Vegeta even begrudgingly allowed her to help him limp into the infirmary; trying to get him to submit to tests and nurses and doctors was another thing entirely. He’d sulk and moan about having her and her family clean him up, but he might go ballistic if a doctor tried to give him a local.

So, she helped him into Capsule Corp.’s modest infirmary, set up mostly for small, mild injuries that might take place in a lab, and manned by exactly one registered nurse, who screamed when Bulma kicked the door open, and heaved Vegeta over the threshold.

After a lot of hassle, they managed to maneuver Vegeta onto a bed, and cleaned off most of the gunk and blood. Underneath the dust, the wounds were not as bad as Bulma feared. They were ugly gashes, but not too deep, and not anywhere dangerous. Bruises and welts started to bloom across his body, and a goose egg protruded from his temple.

The nurse checked his pupils as Bulma paced.

“M-miss, we should really take him to the hospital,” the nurse started. “He could have internal injuries, he could have a brain hemorrhage; we can’t know without x-rays or at least an MRI!”

Bulma gripped her arms, digging her nails into her flesh. “He can’t go to the ED. He’d blow it up the second he realised what was happening,” she said, returning to his side. “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

Vegeta lay on his back, the sheets pulled up neatly under his armpits. An oxygen mask covered his face, and she could see the condensation ebb and flow with his breathing. His skin had turned sickly grey.

“I’ll call a doctor if he gets worse,” Dr Briefs announced. He stood by the edge of the bed, arms folded. Scratch lounged on his shoulders, her tail flicking. “If he stays in bed for a week or so he should be fine. Those Saiyans are practically indestructible.”

Bunny let out a sob, her hand flying to her face. “Oh, poor Vegeta! This is just awful!”

Dr Briefs sighed. He caught Bulma’s eye, and he gave her a hard look. “Come on, dear, let’s leave him to rest,” he said, patting Bunny’s shoulder. Bunny leaned into him, sniffling, and together, they left the room. The nurse pursed her lips, glancing from Bulma, to Vegeta, and back. She got to her feet, and followed Dr Briefs.

The door closed, and Bulma wiped her nose on her sleeve. Bunny had already placed a vase of fresh flowers by Vegeta’s bedside, but the smell of antiseptic still filled the room. Bulma stood over Vegeta, hands resting on the bed, taking in the bandages and gauze wound tight across his chest and crown. “You big lunkhead,” she breathed.

She pulled out the chair beside him, the legs scraping across the linoleum, and took a seat. Vegeta groaned through the oxygen mask, and shuddered. He mumbled something, tilting his head. “You alright there, buddy?” She asked, quietly.

He muttered again, and his hand twitched.

She scooted closer, gripping the edge of her chair.

 

_ Never forget who you are. You are a Saiyan. _

 

Vegeta coughed, the last shreds of his dream fading, and he groped for the thing around his face. He pulled the oxygen mask free, his hands trembling. His head throbbed, his eyes taking a little too long to adjust. Squinting against the sudden light, he tried to figure out where he was.

He didn’t recognise the turquoise walls or yellow curtains, but he did recognise the feel of stiff, sterile bed sheets, and the smell of some foul medicine in the air. He tilted his head, sunlight pouring in through a window, birds calling somewhere beyond, and he realised, with horror, he was still on Earth.

Someone moved, and he stilled. With great effort, he lifted his head. Someone sat in a chair, slumped over on the desk with their head resting on folded arms. They turned over in their sleep, and he spotted the familiar halo of blue hair. He suppressed his groan.

Of course,  _ of course _ it was the woman. Who else would be his punishment in Hell?

He sat back in the bed, his head sinking into the pillows. He stared up at the ceiling, bleary eyed, and tried to piece together what happened.

The woman had complained about him emptying the fridge in the morning, he’d started training in the Gravity Room, he’d pushed the machine to 250Gs, despite the warnings, and then…

He drew a blank.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, thinking. He tried to remember the dream he had been having, or nightmare. He couldn’t tell, but it left his hands shaking, and his heart on the verge of giving out. He lay there for a moment, before he gripped the edges of the bed, and pushed himself up.

“You better not be trying to make a run for it,” the woman’s voice sounded.

His head snapped in her direction, and they locked eyes. She was still slumped over on the table, but facing him now. She pulled her hand out from under her chin and pointed at him. “Lie back down.”

“This is ridiculous,” he rasped.

“You’re the one who blew himself up.” She sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears in a delicate movement, before glaring. “No Gravity Room until you’re better.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but she cut him off.

“Shut _ up! _ You’re not fine!” She turned the chair towards him, and inched it closer until she was bearing down on him in an unavoidable eruption. “I thought you had died!”

“We’ve established already that it’s hard to kill me,” he said. She let out a frustrated scream, and like always, Vegeta found himself very nearly smiling.

She lowered her hands, taking in a deep breath, eyes closed. “I am not letting you goad me into an argument,” she said, firmly. “You are staying in this bed until you’re better, and then when you are, you can go back to training—”

“I don’t need to ‘get better’, woman, I’m a Saiyan—!”

“— _ you can go back to training _ on one condition!”

Vegeta’s jaw set. “I don’t do conditions,” he said, finally.

“I don’t care. I’ll let you get back to training if you promise me that you won’t push yourself like this again.”

Vegeta ground his teeth, frown deepening. He heard the waver in the woman’s tone, and the way she seemed to struggle to keep her eyes on him, so he begrudgingly settled back into the bed. Relief washed over her face, and she let go of the chair.

“Thank you,” she sighed. “Ok, so, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Try again, smartass.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “I’m awake,” he said, pointedly.

“Are you sore?”

“No,” he lied, his chest aching with every breath.

“Ugh! You’re impossible!”

She got up, kicking the chair under the table again. He hadn’t seen her in what felt like days. She had her hair tied back in a messy looking ponytail, strands falling free and hanging loose about her face. Bags hung heavy under her eyes, and her cheeks lacked colour, save for the lash of black pen across her bottom lip which she must have forgotten about. She grabbed a glass of water from the table, and offered it to him. When he didn’t move, her mouth twisted, and she grabbed his hands, closing his fingers around the glass and pushing it towards his face. He drank it, but only to keep her quiet. He didn’t realise how thirsty he was until he’d drained the glass.

“Can you remember anything?” She asked.

“I remember you being annoying as always.”

She went to smack him, and he readied himself to catch her hit, but she must have thought better of it. She lowered her hand, using it to smooth out her shirt instead. “Well, with an attitude like that you can just stay in this bed for a few weeks and get bedsores and I won’t bother to get you a senzu bean.”

Vegeta’s ears pricked. He knew what that was.

“You’d get one for me anyway,” he said. “Your planet is on borrowed time as it is, and if I lose to the androids because of your insistence of keeping me bed bound then it will be on your shoulders.”

This time he let her smack his wrist. It wasn’t hard, but the momentary touch made his hairs stand on end.

“Fine. I  _ was _ going to get you a senzu bean, but only because I was worried that maybe something more serious could be going on and I’m not silly enough to try and put you through an MRI. It’ll still take a while. They don’t grow overnight. You’re going to have to put up with being in bed for at least a week, ok?”

“A week?” Vegeta blustered, but she reached out, and her hand settled on his. He willed himself to rip his hand away, to shake her off, but her light touch weighed him down like the moon.

“Please!  _ Please! _ It gives dad and I some time to repair the Gravity Room as well!” She insisted. She squeezed his hand, and he tensed in her grip. “You’ve been working yourself too hard! A break could do you some good!”

“A break? I don’t need any break, woman! I am the pr—!”

“‘ _ Prince of all Saiyans! Strongest of my race! Blah, blah, blah! _ ’ I get it! I know! I know who you are, Vegeta!” She mocked. Her features softened, and he noticed the warmth in her cheeks had returned. “I haven’t forgotten. Now, just sit in that bed and focus on getting better! Think positive thoughts!”

“Hmph! Fine! If it gets you off my back and my Gravity Room repaired quicker.”

She took her hand away, and immediately, he wished she’d held it longer. He bridled at the thought. She got to her feet, but offering him a knowing smirk. She left, and Vegeta’s shoulders relaxed. He peered down at his hands, his fingers bandaged and taped, and wondered, for a brief moment, who had dressed his wounds.

He decided he would obey the woman’s instructions. For now.

 

**DAY 56**

 

Obeying the woman lasted three days, which was a testament to her power over him, and a marking of his own weakness. He was determined to not let it happen again. Her father had already repaired much of the Gravity Room, though it couldn’t get to the level it did before. Scaffolding still clung to its sides, and tools and droids lay scattered across the treated tiles when Vegeta slunk in, and closed the door firmly behind him.

Vegeta trained, bathed in the red glow of the heart of the machine, the hum ringing in his ears. His joints ached, trembling, but he grit his teeth and pushed himself through the veil of pain.

A klaxon went off, and a panel on the wall lit up.

“Vegeta, you idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” The woman shrilled, glaring down from the screen.

His focus wavered, his foot slipping, and the gravity smashed him against the floor of the chamber. He growled, pushing himself up. The bandage around his temple had come loose, hanging in front of his eyes. “Training!”

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Shut up!” He spat, slamming his fist on the floor, the tile cracking.

The woman moved, and he heard her change position. He glanced up, catching sight of her on the screen. Her hair was a mess. She’d been working on something. “Come on! You need rest! Just go back to bed!” When he didn’t answer immediately, she cleared her throat. “Have you got nothing to say to me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do have something to say,” he growled.

She blinked, suddenly unsure. “W-what?” She started, before regaining her composure. “Are you going to apologise?”

“No, I have something else I want to say to  _ you _ , woman.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, the ki flooding his joints. It flared deep in his chest and crackled along his skin. “I want you to  _ leave me alone! _ ”

The gravity bore down, and his skull hit the floor hard. In a hail of stars, he blacked out.

 

Something cold pressed to his forehead, and he winced. Vegeta grumbled, turning his head away.

“Would you sit still for once? Even unconscious you can’t stop moving!” Bulma sounded, and his eyes snapped open. He was greeted once again by turquoise walls, bright lights, and the stiff sheets of the infirmary. He threw his head back against the pillows with a moan, and the world swam, threatening to darken again. “Hey, hey! Stay with me!”

He pushed her hand away, and realised she’d been holding an ice pack to his crown. “I don’t need your help!”

“Well, since you knocked yourself unconscious for the  _ second _ time in twenty four hours, I think you do! Or did you finally get brain damage from pissing yourself off?” The woman resumed pressing the ice pack lightly against the side of his head, and he groused, but allowed it. She sat on the edge of the bed, a thin wool jumper half tucked into her pants, her hair around her shoulders. She smelled of sweat and flowers and something else uniquely her, he realised. “Do you want to talk about this?” She asked, at length.

“There is nothing to talk about.”

She made a face, raising her eyebrows—he’d been caught out somehow.

“You were talking in your sleep,” she said, lifting the ice pack away and inspecting his head.

_ Damn it all. _

He resisted the urge to look away. “Then you will forget anything I said.”

“Vegeta…” She placed the ice pack on her lap, and took in a deep breath. “You’re obsessed.”

“And? What of it?”

She rolled her eyes again. “Even blacked out all you can think about is beating Goku! You’ve based your whole identity around beating him, to the point where you aren’t even taking care of yourself! It’s not healthy!”

“When I become Super Saiyan—!”

“It won’t be because of some fucking imaginary contest between you and Goku! I know Goku said he got there by ‘training’, but I think there is more to it, he’s thick as a board and you know that. I don’t think your shitty sense of pride is the spark!”

He stared, open mouthed. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and the building anger spread from his chest to trembling, bandages hands. He made to sit up, to look her right in the eye and to put her in her place once and for all but she placed a hand to his chest, and all the strength left his arms.

“Becoming Super Saiyan is my right, this is my purpose! If I can’t ascend, then what good am I as a Saiyan?”

She blinked, taken aback, and Vegeta froze.

Had he really said that?

Bulma pulled at the corner of the ice pack, frowning at her knees.

“I will do this,” he rumbled, finally. Her silence grew uncomfortable. “Or I will die honorably.”

He folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes, listening for the tell tale groan of the chair across the tile and the woman leaving, but she didn’t move. She sighed, and he opened one eye again. She turned to him, and smiled, but there was something hollow about it.

“Well, fine. If you’re so intent on killing yourself, I’ll just bring my laptop and all my notes and I’ll keep doing my work in here.”

“You will do no such thing!”

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” She asked.

He went to move, but his body betrayed him, and refused. He let out a low, ragged breath, his ribs aching with the movement. She was right, he couldn’t do anything to stop her. He caught her smirking out of the corner of his eye, and glared. It only made her mouth lengthen more.

“Alright, it’s settled then. I’m going to keep you company and keep an eye on you and if you’re up to it I’ll arrange for mum to bring you something to eat.”

“Hmph.”

He was always ready for something to eat.

The woman pulled the chair under the table, and leaned across to turn on the intercom. “Imogen? Can you bring my notes and laptop up from the lab? They should be on the table near the kettle—oh, and can you get a message to my mum? Someone has woken up and is  _ very _ cranky.”

Vegeta bristled. “Is that really necessary? Have you not humiliated me enough?”

A woman answered on the other end of the intercom. “Of course, ma’am. Can I get you anything else?”

Bulma fixed Vegeta with a narrowed look, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. A breeze blew in through the window, the curtains billowing lightly. The too sweet smell of flowers caught in the back of Vegeta’s throat, threatening to make him sneeze.

“Yeah, can you get me a six pack as well from the fridge?”

“M-ma’am?”

“My kitchen, in my house, that one. It’s fine just grab it when you tell mum about Vegeta. Or you can ask her to bring one, either way, I need it.” She flicked the switch, and cut off Imogen’s protests. She smiled at Vegeta, tossing the ice pack in his direction. He caught it, but winced.

“Alright, that’s you and I sorted!” She announced. “I’m going to do my work, day drink, and look after you.”

“I do not need to be babied,” Vegeta growled. He reluctantly lifted the ice pack to his head, and the relief was instant.

The woman just grinned, and he realised that he was in over his head.


	4. DAY 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It ain't easy bein', uh... traumatised

Bulma’s eyes flickered open, and she swallowed. Her mouth tasted like iron, and her teeth ached like hell. The bedroom was dark, her curtains drawn tight but the clock on the nightstand cast an eerie glow announcing that it was 02:00AM. She rolled over, frowning.

Something wasn’t right.

She worked her hand out from under the covers, bleary eyed, and inspected her arm. Her skin had goosebumps despite the warm night, and every hair stood at attention.

A scream sounded, and she jolted. Kicking the sheets back and stumbling out of bed, she threw the her bedroom door open. Another terrified cry sounded and a crash, and she realised who it was.

Bulma sprinted down the hall, holding her chest in place, heart racing. Somewhere up the other end, she heard a door open and her mother tentatively ask, “Bulma, sweetie? What’s that awful racket?”

“Go back to bed!” Bulma snapped, before shouldering open the offending door. She slammed it shut without thinking, and Vegeta spun around, the ki thrumming between his fingers and an open palm aimed in her direction. Bulma flicked on the light. “It’s me! It’s me, it’s ok! It’s me!”

After what felt like an age, the ki dissipated with a hiss. His hands flew to his chest, digging through the fabric of his shirt desperately, looking for something. He reached under the shirt, and she saw his fingers probe the thick mound of pink and silver flesh above his heart. “Wh-what time? Where…?” He was breathless.

“It’s alright. You’re at Capsule Corp.,” Bulma explained, gently. She let her hand slip from the doorknob, and took a step closer. Vegeta’s head swivelled, taking in the room, all the corners, the window and the door before he let go of his shirt, his breathing ragged.

“On Earth?” He asked, hoarsely.

“Yeah, on Earth,” Bulma confirmed with a gentle look. She tiptoed to the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding a broken lamp.

“Frieza, he’s—!”

“He’s dead.” Bulma quietly took a seat on the very edge of the mattress. “Months ago.”

Vegeta half crouched on the bed, dark sweat patches across his shirt. He nodded, slowly, licking his lips before he lowered his shoulders. His eyes fell on her, heavy as a punch. “What are you doing here?”

Bulma blinked and pointed to the shattered lamp on the carpet. “You had an incident and as your friend I am forced to attend,” she said, offering him a smile.

He licked his lips again. “I’m fine.”

“Really? You’re going to play that card?”

“It was nothing.”

Sticking her hands on her waist, Bulma raised her brows. “ _ Um, really? _ It sure sounded like  _ something _ , Vegeta!”

“I’m fine! Why must you question everything I do?” The ki flashed blue, and the lights flickered. Vegeta slapped a hand to his face, digging calloused fingers into his eyes and pinching his nose. He groaned into his palm.

“Stay here,” Bulma instructed, getting to her feet. She made sure to cover her chest as she did so, saying, “I’m going to get you a glass of water. Just stay put, I’ll be right back!”

She waited for him to protest, but he stayed quiet, so Bulma took her chance. She stepped lightly down the hallway, straight for the kitchen, and her parents’ door opened again with a soft click.

“Bulma, honey, is everything ok?” Dr Briefs asked, standing in the doorway.

Bulma nodded, waving her hand as she passed. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just go back to bed, I’ll deal with this.”

“Did anything break?” He asked, leaning out over the threshold.

Dodging the question with a too sweet smile, she ducked into the kitchen. She strained her ears, listening out for any opening glass doors, any heavy boots down the stairs, or more worryingly, the rumble of a ship. The house stayed quiet, and she filled a glass to the brim before racing back up the hall.

She pushed the door wide, and saw Vegeta had moved. He sat with his back up against the headboard, knees bent, and pulling at his hair. He looked up the moment she’d turned the handle; he looked exhausted.

“Hey, it’s just me again,” Bulma murmured. She closed the door behind her, offering him the glass. He stared at her hand for a moment, wary, but he took it without argument. He emptied it in one swig, and Bulma carefully sat on the other end of the bed. “You know, I was never a huge fan of the lamp either,” she said.

Vegeta’s throat bobbed, but he didn't speak. His tail trashed among the sheets, hairs bristled. Whatever it was, it’d been bad.

“I’m fine, woman,” he croaked.

Bulma resisted the urge to scoot closer. She settled for inching her hand along the sheets, until his tail flicked across her knuckles. He didn’t immediately retract it, so she pressed a little more. “Can I sit next to you?”

He didn’t nod, but he didn’t shoot it down either. Slowly, she pulled herself along the edge of the mattress, one foot on the ground, and still giving him plenty of space to think. Placing her hands chastely on her lap, she regarded his room, bare and barren as the day he’d moved in. He’d kept it clean, and even more surprising, kept it in one piece. He’d hardly moved or used furniture that wasn’t the bed, and even then, she wasn’t sure how much he used it. She did take notice, however, of the blue vase on the dresser, stuffed with bulbous tulips from Bunny Briefs’ own prized horticultural collection for all the world to see.

“Was it about Namek?” She asked, finally.

A minute ticked by before Vegeta dipped his chin in a nod, staring at the wall. The colour had crept back into his features, but he kept himself tense, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Another minute passed before he spoke, “you don’t need to treat me like a child.”

“I’m not, I promise.” She leaned back against the headboard experimentally, watching for any flinch or jump out of the corner of her eye. “I know from experience that if you have nightmares, the best solution is to sit with someone until you feel ok.”

“I am not having nightmares, woman.”

“Oh, you’re just waking up screaming for fun, of course, just like you did on Namek—!”

“ _ Nightmares _ aren’t  _ real _ ,” he hissed, his jaw set. His tail thrashed again, and he wrestled with the words in his mouth. “I am not having  _ nightmares _ .”

Bulma frowned, and realised what he meant.

“Flashbacks?” She questioned, gently.

He grunted.

_ Ah. _

“Can I turn the light off?”

He didn’t answer, so she took that for a ‘yes’. She flicked the switch, and the room plunged back into shadow again. Moonlight pooled on the floor from the window, the stars visible over the black outline of Capsule Corp.’s sprawling grounds along with West City’s ever present orange glow. Lips pursed, and her heart racing, Bulma sat back down next to him again, and this time, she heard him move.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting,” Bulma replied.

She couldn’t see him, but she could feel his intense stare. She waited for the swearing and the thundering and ranting, but she felt the bed move, and risked a glance in his direction. He’d lowered himself down, still sitting, but now with his arms folded across his chest in a familiar, impenetrable barrier. She knew she wouldn’t be getting much more out of him.

In the gloom, the shadows became more twisted, more threatening. She could hear him breathing, slow and deliberate.

“If this happens again,” Bulma started, her voice sounding foreign in the dark. “You can just come and wake me.”

Something brushed against the pillow, and she felt his eyes on her again.

“I mean, I’ll probably be groggy and not a lot of help, but I won’t mind. I have dreams about Namek as well, but, maybe not as bad as yours.”

His breathing paused. “You do?”

Bulma nodded, and then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yeeeah,  _ well _ . A lot of bad stuff happened, and I saw a lot of things I’d rather not have seen, y-you died in my arms, tough guy. Plus, no one else really gets it because only a handful of us were there, and came back. Gohan’s only a kid, so that rules him out, Krillin doesn’t live in this city, and I think just hangs out exclusively at Kame house, Piccolo I don’t talk to, and he wasn’t there for all of it, and Goku—” Vegeta growled. “—He’s God only Knows where in the country, and wasn’t there for half of it.”

She reached over the nightstand, picking up his empty glass, just for something to hold. Something furry brushed her arm again, and the hairs on her arm prickled.

A few more minutes dragged out in silence, and finally, Bulma shifted, the bed creaking. She got to her feet, holding the glass to her chest. “I’m going to go back to bed, but—feel free to wake me if you need to.”

He didn’t respond, not that she really expected him to. Biting back a sigh, and closed the door quietly behind her. She paused, hand resting on the knob, glass in the other. She heard him move on the other side, and settle. After a long second, Bulma tip toed back to her room, but she didn’t sleep well after that.


	5. DAY 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tfw accidentally tricked into being vulnerable. like and share if u agree.

“You’ve got to stop doing this!” Bulma moaned.

Vegeta dragged himself over the threshold, holding a dislocated shoulder, the blood streaming down the length of his arm. He leaned against the wall, groaning. He’d hobbled out of the Gravity Room, through Capsule Corp.’s winding halls, staining more than his fair share of carpets with mud and blood until he kicked open Bulma’s lab door again. She’d only finished repairs the other day.

“Do you want me to just get a doctorate in medicine as well? Far out, come here, come here!” She got to her feet, crossing the room in an instant. She helped him into a study chair, and he wheezed, blinking against the blood gushing from a cut above his eye. Bulma swept her project to the side, pulling out the first aid kit from a drawer and setting it on the cleared space.

Vegeta just sat in the chair, frowning at nothing.

“You know, this wouldn’t be such an issue if you would—I don’t know—maybe let some of the doctors and nurses look at you instead of me?” Bulma started, grabbing a fistful of gauze.

“I don’t care much for the medics on this planet,” Vegeta said in his usual gruff tone. She went to apply gauze to the gash across his upper arm, but he stopped her with one of his roadblock glares, and set his shoulder back into the socket with a hiss.

“Jesus christ! You’re not meant to put it back yourself! If you could do that all along why did you need me?”

“To observe the hardiness of a Saiyan, woman, and know how lucky you are that I have use for your planet,” Vegeta grumbled, gingerly testing his shoulder. She pulled her stool towards him, and gave him some gauze for his arm before she reached for his face. He lifted his head for her obediently, holding the gauze to his arm. Bruises had already started to form across his bare skin, and his singlet and track pants were still wet with blood.

“You’ll need stitches, again,” she said, inspecting his brow carefully. She wiped the blood away and he tensed under her grasp. “I can’t get you a senzu bean every time you decide to almost brain yourself.”

“It wouldn’t happen so frequently if your damn bots could withstand a beating and didn’t blow up under the slightest pressure,” he snarked. His tail unwound from his waist, hanging loose. It only did that when he got into an argument with her, and even then, only when he was winning.

“They blow up because you blast them!”

“And that is poor engineering on your part, not mine,” Vegeta said.

“Ugh!”

She couldn’t stop him from hurting himself, she’d given up on that. Thankfully, he wasn’t blowing himself up and half the facility, but he was still beating himself to a bloody pulp. He steadfastly refused medical treatment from a doctor, to the point where Bulma had to get one of the infirmary locums to teach her how to suture.

Bulma lifted the gauze away from his brow, inspecting the cut. It was deep, still bleeding, but it’d only require maybe one or two stitches.

“Keeping you functioning is becoming a full time job, and I’m not getting paid,” she remarked, pulling the med kit towards her with her free hand. She fished around for a needle and sterilized thread pack. When she turned back, he’d closed his eyes.

She worked quickly, her hands moving with grim determination as she sewed the gash closed. She cut the thread, and wiped away the blood with well practiced ease, scrutinising the wound. Her stitches might not win sewing awards but at least they got the job done. She reached out for his hand, the one covering the other laceration, and he allowed her to peel his hand away. She sucked in a sharp breath, getting the needle and thread ready again.

“This is becoming quite the habit. I’m starting to think you just like my company,” she quipped, placing his arm down on the table carefully. She waited for his snide remark, and sure enough, it came.

“I tolerate your presence, woman. I’d tolerate it better if you channeled some of the energy you use for mindless chatter into upgrading the Gravity Room; you’d have it perfected in no time at all.”

“I’d maybe have more energy for installing those new gravity cores that came in if I wasn’t always having to play doctor,” she replied, not bothering to hide her smile. Every time Vegeta wandered back into her lab, or her bedroom, or the kitchen, wanting her to set something, dress something or fix something, she’d have a hundred insults she’d planned throughout the day at the ready, and it seemed he did too.

“A little presumptuous to label yourself a ‘doctor’ when the title of ‘butcher’ is more fitting,” Vegeta drawled. He watched her keenly, and she felt her face pink.

“I thought you’d told your buffoon you didn’t want to see him again; I’ve noticed he’s still crawling around here like the vermin he is,” he said. He tilted his arm towards him slightly, inspecting the new sutures with a critical eye.

She wiped the area with an alcohol swab, but he didn’t flinch. “I was angry at him, but Yamcha and I are still friends,” Bulma explained, packing the first aid kit up. “He lives in the city, but he doesn’t want to train at the gym and arouse suspicion so I let him train here where there’s more space.”

“He stinks up the place.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Tch.”

The first aid kit closed with a click, and Bulma tossed it into a drawer. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s not.”

She caught his heavy gaze, and elaborated. “I’ve known Yamcha since I was a teenager, I met him at sixteen, and even though we’re not together anymore, I still want to be his friend and I still want to help you all any way I can.”

Vegeta huffed, and leaned back in the study chair, causing it to creak. “So why do you hide in your lab whenever he’s jogging around looking stupid? You’re not even afraid of me and yet you run to ground the moment you hear him coming.”

She straightened up. “Why does it matter to you?” She asked, giving him a dose of his own medicine for a change, but instead of getting angry, and storming off, Vegeta doubled down.

“Don’t get me wrong, Bulma, I just find it interesting.”

Bulma leaned back in her own chair, mirroring his stance, her arms folded across her chest. She lifted her shoe up and rested it on the armrest of Vegeta’s chair, but he didn’t move. “I’m glad to see you remember my name after all this time.”

“Only because you have a habit of plastering it everywhere like a child,” he replied.

They watched each other. Vegeta’s gaze bore down on her, heavy as the Gravity Room itself, and finally she looked away, pretending to busy herself with some papers on the desk. She tried to think of the last time that he’d used her name.

“Do you have something else on your mind?” She asked, idly flicking through files.

She heard him scoff. “Distracting you, am I?”

“Well?”

“Does that clown know what transpired on Namek?”

“Uh, yeah he heard about what happened on Namek, he was there when you gleefully told everyone you were now the strongest in the universe and going to enslave everyone because you thought Goku was dead,” she started, but Vegeta kicked her chair, and the papers went flying across the floor. She spun around to start another screaming match, but Vegeta watched her closely, sizing her up. She understood what he was asking.

“For crying out loud!  _ No! _ He doesn’t know about  _ that _ ,” she said after a moment, snatching up reports and charts off the floor.. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Why? Are you thinking about… what happened?”

He didn’t speak, but she knew the answer.

Leaning back, she narrowed her eyes, and kicked the corner of his study chair, but as always, he didn’t budge. “I’ll fix the Gravity Room tonight, but please don’t destroy it again until I get in the new cores. Hopefully I can get you another 50Gs once they’re in place and the chamber is reinforced,” she said.

“Good. You’re starting to pull your weight, finally.”

“For now though, you’re just going to have to wait until I finish my other actually  _ paid  _ work.”

“Fine, I’ll wait,” he announced, not moving.

“I don’t mean physically sit here and wait—!” she started, but cut herself off.

Who was she fooling? She liked having him around. He at least ensured she wasn’t going to be bothered by anyone; as much as she joked about him scaring the staff and anyone else who thought about prowling the Capsule Corp. grounds, he was a good deterrent.

Vegeta settled back into the chair, arms folded, and his chin resting on his chest, and Bulma’s mouth twisted into a treacherous smile. She pulled her papers close to her again, and saw his tail flick.

So, he’s been thinking about what ‘transpired’ on Namek, has he? She fingered the pages of the data report, making sure they were still in order. That might explain why the normally deft and precise Vegeta had come down with a sudden case of clumsiness over the past week.

She picked up a pen, poised to continue writing whatever thought she’d had before Vegeta burst in, but placed it down again. She spun on her chair, legs neatly crossed. His eyes were closed, his frown a fraction less severe than normal.

“Have you perhaps been looking for excuses to get the attention of lil’ ol me?” Bulma asked, coyly.

He didn’t move. “Have you perhaps been looking for reasons to ‘play doctor’?”

That confirmed it.

Bulma scooted her chair forward, her knees bumping up against his. He opened a single dark eye, regarding her. “Aren’t you busy working, woman?” He asked, drolly.

“Aren’t you busy training, Vegeta?”

His unyielding scowl trembled, and she thought she caught the hint of one of Vegeta’s most elusive expressions. Bulma pushed her study chair back, legs out, and she bumped against end of the work bench. Hooking her foot under the corner of the bar fridge, she levered the door open and groped inside for a cold bottle of beer. She eyed him, and grabbed a second bottle, before kicking the door shut, and sliding the study chair back in his direction.

“Ok, well I guess we’re having a break then,” Bulma said, placing the bottles on the bench top.

“I am not having a break, woman,” Vegeta corrected, sinking a little more into his chair, knees spread. “I’m waiting for you to carry out your upgrades and you’re wasting time, as always.”

“Of course, of course,” Bulma said, twisting the top off her bottle. She pushed the unopened bottle towards him with a finger, and he opened one eye briefly to frown at her, before closing them again. He snatched the bottle up and Bulma turned away with a scoff.

“To answer your earlier question, I just don’t like being around when Yamcha’s here because even though I wanted to be the better person and help him he’s been obsessed with trying to get back together,” she explained. She made an effort to not look Vegeta’s way as he fumbled with the cap until he opened it.

“I couldn’t care less,” he said, flicking the cap aside. She also tried not to look his way when he took his first sip, and made a face. He didn’t like beer, or alcohol in general, really, but he insisted on having it if she offered.

“I know,” she replied, simply, clasping the bottle neck between her index and middle finger and letting it hang. “Anyway! He texts me all the time now, which is fine, but he  _ never _ did that when we were together, and he keeps asking me out to places as ‘friends’ and I just keep saying I was busy, which is true! Because you’re always blowing yourself up—”

“Get to the point.”

“—and eventually he stopped but you know what  _ I  _ think? I think the girls he was always making googly eyes at when we were together aren’t stupid enough to get into a relationship with him! I think they can smell the shithead from a mile away! Ha, oh,  _ man _ , I know it’s petty but I feel validated.”

“They sound like they were still smarter than you if they don’t fall for his buffoonery,” Vegeta drawled.

Bulma went red. “I was a teenager! Jesus, you really can be such a cruel bastard sometimes!”

“I told you  _ already _ , woman, I don’t care about this; if you didn’t want my opinion you shouldn’t have continued telling me!”

“ _ Ugh! _ You’re  _ impossible! _ Also,  _ I _ broke up with _ him _ ! But yes, ok, fine, whatever, record this because it’ll be the only time I say it but sure, you might be right.”

He sniggered into his beer, his tail swaying back and forth around the chair and Bulma went to kick his shin, but he moved his leg out of range. She glowered at him, taking a swig and setting the bottle down a little too hard. Running her finger over the label, she set up her next play.

“Besides, I’m not interested in Yamcha-types anymore. I think I’ve grown out of that bad-boy type,” she mused, swilling the beer around with a thoughtful expression. Vegeta’s smirk withered. “Or maybe just that particular kind of bad-boy.”

“Yamcha was not even a fraction of Kakarot’s strength and almost as soft and stupid!” Vegeta scoffed, but he’d stopped slouching.

“Oh, I mean, yeah, maybe he’s kinda sappy now _ ,  _ but he wasn’t always. He used to be a bandit; living in the desert, stealing cars, robbing people. That’s how we met!” Bulma explained, laying out her pieces on the board and watching Vegeta’s mind race. “I used to be very into that—and also sixteen.”

She waited for him to pick up on her strategy, and make his move, but instead he flipped the board and asked: “And now?”

She fumbled, and caught her beer bottle before it fell. Her cheeks grew hot, and she cursed herself again; he was the most stubborn, arrogant jerk on the planet but he still somehow he managed to awkwardly charm his way into endearment. She gathered herself, flashing him what she hoped was a smug smile, and said, “and now I like  _ adults _ .”

Vegeta slumped, just a little, and she picked out the minute muscle movements beneath his skin as the corner of his mouth twitched on the verge of saying something, and reconsidering. Bulma drained her beer, mouth tingling.

“I like strong men,” she said, clearing her throat. “Smart, gentle, makes me laugh and doesn’t treat me like arm candy, but not a doormat either.”

She saw his tail twitch out the corner of her eye, and she quickly regained her footing. “When I first heard of the Dragon Balls I was just a teenager, but I told myself that I was going to get them and I was going to wish for a perfect boyfriend… that or a big mountain of strawberries.”

“What a trivial wish,” Vegeta said. “Fitting for someone like you I suppose.”

“Oh, someone like me?” She snapped. “And what’s  _ that _ meant to mean exactly?”

“That you are exactly the sort of person who would waste a universe bending wish just to obtain food,” Vegeta huffed. “And if the Dragon gave you that clown you definitely wasted your wish.”

“Lucky for you, Prince Gripes-a-Lot, I didn’t get to make either of those wishes so you can rest easy knowing that Yamcha was not the perfect partner that I was going to wish for!”

Vegeta’s ears reached flashpoint, and he was yelling, “just what are you trying to say, woman?”

“I’m just  _ saying _ I never used the wish! Jeez! I don’t know why you’re so upset about this!”

“If I’m upset it’s because I constantly have to listen to your nonsense drivel at all hours of the day!”

“Ok then! How about  _ you _ tell me what you like in a girl then?”

Vegeta nearly fell out of the chair, spitting beer. “That’s stupid! Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not wasting my time with this—! I have training to do, woman, just upgrade the Gravity Room!”

Bulma clicked her tongue. “Fine.”

Vegeta gawked, before clamping his mouth shut and nodding. “Hmph. Good—!”

“But you have to tell me what you like in a girl first, it’s only fair!”

“ _ Fair?! _ ” He roared, and the ki whipped about the room.

Bulma smoothed the hairs on her arm down with a delicate hand, fixing him with a smile. “If you tell me, I’ll get to upgrading the Gravity Room right away. Pinky promise!”

“Don’t quote your stupid Earth customs at me; I am not doing this!”

Bulma leaned back in the study chair, tossing the empty beer bottle into the bin under the desk. “Then I guess you’ll have to practice being patient and  _ wait! _ ”

“I’ve been patient enough, I’ve graced you with more patience than you or your race deserves!” He seethed, kicking the chair aside. He made to snatch her arm, but she wielded a single index finger like a sword.

“I am not being manhandled by you.”

His expression flickered, like the fluorescent lights above his head as the ki pulsed against the ceiling. He lowered his hand, trembling, and stood straight.

“Saiyans are not drawn in or fooled by superficial ideas of bonding like you lesser races,” he said, lazily, but she could see how hard he clenched his teeth. “Saiyans are warriors first and foremost and anything that detracts from the ultimate pursuit of power is a distraction.”

“So you like tough girls who can beat you up?” Bulma suggested, earning a snarl, and a bulb bursting overhead.

“If I was to choose a partner—and supreme Kai forbid  _ you  _ ever hear about it—it would only be someone who could match me in strength and ability to produce the best heir.”

“Ugh, wow, how romantic. You make it sound like line breeding for horses! Come on! What about like, someone who is funny or nice or I don’t know—?” Bulma made a vague gesture, “—someone who likes doing crunches in enhanced gravity?”

“Those things aren’t important!” Vegeta snarled, the heat spreading from his face and down his throat. He stood twisted in the spot, his top half ready to turn and storm out the door but his feet cemented in place. “Not to mention by the time Frieza had gained control over the planet such frivolous notions had been phased out in favour of more pragmatic practices.”

Bulma’s thoughts slammed headlong into a wall, and she blinked. She pulled the sentence apart, dissecting the tone and word choice and setting them aside and comparing them to what little she knew about Saiyans—and several pieces of the broader Vegeta shaped puzzle suddenly made sense. Sitting up, she scooted the study chair closer to him.

“Freiza’s gone though,” she said, voice low. Vegeta’s head snapped in her direction, the vein in his temple on the verge of bursting. “And it sounds like it wasn’t always the case. Just imagine the absolute perfect, best case scenario!”

His muscles shook from effort; his chest barely moving. “Are you going to upgrade the Gravity Room?” He asked, voice tight.

Bulma nodded, grinning. “Yeah, yeah, duh! Of course! For sure! But you have to tell me.”

He lowered his gaze, scowl growing darker, and he spoke as if he drew up each word from a well in his stomach. “Then listen up, because I will only say this once.”

She saw his eyes flit about the room, and how the muscles worked in his jaw. She resisted the urge to reach for her phone and record whatever storm was forming on his face.

“They would be…” he started, and Bulma’s mouth lengthened at his careful pronoun choice. “Intelligent. Passionate, and possess a fighting spirit… p-proud, and graceful.”

Bulma’s eyes widened, and it was an effort to keep her jaw in place. He was being honest. He fumbled with the words, and she saw him searching the tiles, the ceiling and the overflowing workbenches for something. His hands shook, and he tried to still them.

“Breathing.” He cleared his throat. “That rules out the Saiyans.”

The computers hummed in the quiet. The space between them yawned, with half finished projects crouched under tarps, and the benches piled high with the skeletons of newly forgotten ideas; it was a graveyard.

The chair creaked under Bulma’s weight as she leaned. “Boy,” she said. “You really hit the nail on the head with all of that, well, except the ‘graceful’ part. I’d describe myself more as ‘elegant’.”

“ _ Shut up! _ ”

The study chair flew back, and Bulma shrieked. She grabbed the edge of the workbench, every computer in the room black or burning blue with error codes. The ki gnashed between Vegeta’s teeth, and the static filled the room. “You vile, repugnant excuse for a woman! I’ve had enough! Upgrade the Gravity Room now or I’ll finally make good on my promise to scatter this planet across your backwater galaxy!”

Bulma shot to her feet, kicking the chair under the table. “Alright, cool it!” She said, but it was difficult to hide the tremble to her tone. “I’ll get right on it, just don’t blow up the lab!”

He pivoted on the spot, heading for the door, glowing searing white and Bulma licked her lips. She snatched the tool box off the bench, throwing her screwdrivers and wrenches haphazardly inside as Vegeta broke yet another lock panel for the door. “Hey! Just one more thing!”

“ _ What?! _ ”

Bulma clutched the toolbox to her chest, wide eyed and pink faced. He glared, edging closer to the point of complete and total supernova, and she smiled.

“I forgot to add something to  _ my _ list, and it’s only fair I’m honest with you,” she said. Vegeta’s brow twitched dangerously. “He has to be prince charming.”


	6. DAY 79

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> do you know where that mouth has been? Disgusting

The sun beat down on the palms and elms of Capsule Corp.’s immaculate grounds. The cicada drone echoed through West City, and heat came off the asphalt in oily waves. Bulma pried her back from the study chair with a moan.

She tilted her head, eyeing the air conditioner remote on the desk on the other side of the room. She could get up and get it but the thrum of the gravity room that had started with the cicadas that morning told her the power supply for the compound was already pushed. She spun the study chair around, sliding under the desk. She flipped the intercom on, the screen lighting up, and positioned herself in front of the camera.

“Vegeta!”

The Gravity Room glowed red on screen, and Vegeta’s flushed face appeared, hair in all directions. “What is it now, shrew?”

Ever since he’d learned what that word meant and how it pissed her off, he found a way to work it into all of his insults.

“Oh, you know, I was just bored and needed someone to yell at— _ it’s fucking boiling and the Gravity Room takes up two thirds of the compound’s power supply! _ Take a break and have a shower or whatever so I can turn the air con on for five minutes!”

He rolled his eyes, and reached for the control panel.

“Don’t you _ dare  _ just turn it up!” Bulma shrilled, leaning over the desk. “Vegeta, I’m not near a computer to manually override that system; if you overload it and it blows up in your face you’ll be the only one to blame!”

He smirked, his hand hovering dangerously over to the keyboard. “It’d save me having to hear you nag about everything,” he sneered.

“Vegeta, don’t—!”

He pressed a button, and the line disconnected. Bulma slammed her hands down on the desk with a cry, and pulled at her fringe. Alright, now she’d had it.

Fuming, she kicked the chair out, and swung around the door frame into the hall. The picture frames on the walls shuddered as she thumped towards the lounge, and jumped down two stairs at a time. She vaulted the last stair into the kitchen. 

“Oh, Bulma, honey, where’s the fire?” Bunny asked from behind a mountain of marigolds, shears in hand. The glass doors stood open, the curtains swaying in a hot breeze, and on the dining table, cut flowers piled high between a collection of glass vases.

“Not now, mum!” Bulma seethed.

“Deary me, what’s that young man done now to get you in such a state?”

“Not  _ now, _ mum!”

Her mother’s bell laugh followed her out the door, and onto the patio. The moment she stood in the sun it burned, another layer of sweat forming across her hairline in an instant. The drone of the Gravity Room grew louder, and Bulma jumped the knee high hedge rows, storming across the lawn. The bulbous, stainless steel form of the Gravity Room loomed next to the labs, the industrial sized generators that lined the wall of the compound chugging. She dodged the cables and pipes, eyes set on the port window door.

Bulma gripped the handrails, hauled herself up the stairs and raised her fist to beat down on the c arbon fibre reinforced polymer door when it swung open, almost knocking her off. Vegeta leaned on the handle, a towel about his neck, and fixed her with a smirk. “Well, well, if it isn’t the Earth welcoming committee?” He jeered, vaulting the handrails and landing softly on the grass.

Bulma stumbled down the stairs, face flushed. “You are such a bastard!” She shouted, trotting beside him. “I’ve been sweating like a stuck pig all day in the heat and you’ve just been gallivanting around inside your insulated fish bowl without a care in the world!”

He unwound his tail from his waist, letting it sway between his legs as he walked. “Isn’t lying around doing nothing what you normally do, woman? It isn’t my problem that you’re feeling the heat. Though I suppose you aren’t used to anything that would actually be considered hot, this is nothing to a Saiyan.”

“ _ Ugh!  _ I don’t want hear another Saiyan biology lesson out of you! I’ve heard it all before.”

“And yet you never seem to remember any of it!”

Vegeta paused on the raggedy doormat by the sliding doors and wiped his shoes as Bunny called, “Bulma, sweetie, make sure you wipe your feet! We don’t live in a cave!”

Bulma went to snarl back that she wasn’t even wearing shoes but bit her tongue. Vegeta flashed her a smug smile before he darted around the kitchen counter.

“My, Vegeta, dear, have you been training? You really are a dedicated and driven young man,” Bunny sang, testing the placement of a few bulging dahlias in a vase.

Vegeta caught Bulma’s eye from across the room, and if her mother wasn’t standing in the way, she would have hurled the nearest ornamental vase at his head. “Some of us do work, woman, it’s true,” he sneered.

“Well, while his royal highness reclines after an arduous day of slamming his head against the wall of the Gravity Room, I’m going to turn on the air conditioner for the first time in  _ weeks _ ,” Bulma said, treacle dripping from every word. She waited until Bunny looked down to poke her tongue out at Vegeta, and flip him the bird for good measure before darting up the stairs again.

She fumbled with the air con remote for a moment, and with a low thud, the old cooling system started up. She tossed the remote aside, and stood in front of the vent, arms up. Cool air rushed into the room, and Bulma sighed. She spun on the spot, lifting her shirt, and all her anger blew away—until she heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs.

“I’m not done with you!” Bulma announced, throwing the door wide.

He shouldered his bedroom door open with another grunt, and Bulma slipped in after him. He threw his sweaty gym towel onto the bed, and the end of his tail whispered against her elbow. “It would be a miracle if you were ever done with your tirades, woman,” he grumbled, but she could see him struggling to keep his frown in place.

“I can’t believe you’d hide behind my  _ mother _ ! Of all people!” Bulma said, setting herself down on the end of his bed. “So much for being part of the brave, warrior Saiyan race.”

Vegeta kicked off his sneakers, back to her. “I  _ am _ a warrior, you’re the one too cowardly to confront me when she’s around. You aren’t scared of Frieza but you’re scared of her? Pathetic.”

She tried to stay mad, but the laughter escaped her before she could stop it. She threw herself back onto his bed, staring up at his empty white wash ceiling, face cracked in a grin and deep as space itself. “You are  _ such _ an asshole!”

“Don’t you have your own bedroom laze about in? Get out!” Vegeta barked, but she could tell it was all for show.

“Why don’t you make me, tough guy?” She said, just to see his cheeks grow dark. He was so predictable sometimes.

“I am not playing that childish game with you,” he said, taking off his work out singlet and tossing it into the clothes hamper. She pretended to demurely avert her gaze, but she watched his muscles work from the corner of her eye. She smiled up at him as he threw on a clean shirt, saying, “if you weren’t so vital to the Gravity Room’s function I’d blast you all here and now.”

“Big talk,” Bulma said, earning a sharp look.

He walked by her again, and she resisted the urge to reach for his tail like he was the cat. She watched him bend to pick up his shoes and crumpled socks, and how the silver skin of the scars on his neck caught the light. He dumped his towel and socks into the hamper, and closed it with his tail, before placing his shoes, neatly as always, by the bedroom door. “What are you looking at?” He asked over his shoulder.

She grinned. “Nothing. I just like looking at you.”

He froze, and Bulma blinked, eyes wide.

“I’m not a specimen to be gawked at, woman,” he said, but his cheeks grew hotter and Bulma got to her feet.

She’d been avoiding it since he’d come back, trying to convince herself that someone else might crop up; it was a big sea after all, and now that she could breach the sky and go beyond that, it turned out that the sea was endless. But her mind always returned to one grumpy, pig-headed fish. There was no point skirting around the issue now.

“No, I just like you a lot,” she admitted, finally. His suspicious frown remained, eyes searching hers for a deeper meaning, so she elaborated. “As a friend and…”

_ Oh boy. _

“Romantically.”

The realisation dawned across his face, starting from his eyes and radiating out in a crimson haze.  She watched him, standing ramrod straight, his hands balled into fists. He stared at her, eyes wide, and she thought he trembled.

“H-hey,” she hazarded, suddenly unsure. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze.

“Would you like me to leave?”

He didn’t answer at first, completely still, staring at some point in space between them. Bulma shifted, turning towards the door but a hand caught hers. She heard Vegeta grinding his teeth, and she waited, giving him space to work the cogs in his brain and churn out his thoughts.

“W-what would I need to do?” He asked, suddenly.

The question took her by surprise. She’d expected him to spit fire and shout and scream but there wasn’t a drop of poison to his tone. She tried to puzzle out the layer beneath his words, but came up empty.

“Do?”

He looked up, and he was lost. All the anger, all the pride and confidence had bled from his features, leaving him a ghost, and she realised what he was asking. 

“Nothing has to change! You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she said.

“I don’t know what I want.”

“We could talk,” she offered. He hadn’t let go of her hand. He didn’t grasp it in the way he normally did when dragging her off to fix something, or when he held it away from him to stop her from hitting him during an argument, he just held it with a desperate lightness. “Or… we could kiss!”

That got a reaction. “Bulma—!”

“What’s the big deal? We kissed heaps on Namek,” she said, talking hold of his hand in both of hers. Ok, well, maybe it was just twice on Namek, but it could have been heaps if they hadn’t had everything else to deal with—

Vegeta made no move to rip his hand free, but he did look away, saying tersely, “to my recollection you were the one who couldn’t stop throwing yourself at me.”

“And now you’re freaking out because I said I liked you?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “Do you really think I would be scared of the likes of you?” He hissed.

She stepped forward, lifting his hand up and holding it close to her chest. Now that he admitted to being unsure, she knew getting him to concede anymore ground would be a hard fought war of attrition, and Vegeta had hunkered himself down almost to the earth’s core. She gave him a gentle smile. “Come on, let’s talk.”

“You’ve done enough of that already,” he managed.

She sat on the bed again, still holding his hand, and he moved slightly, so that he stood next to her, but his arm wasn’t stretched out awkwardly. She tried to hide the curve to her mouth at the idea that he wouldn’t even let go of her, lest that somehow get interpreted as a defeat. Right now, it was a stalemate, and he was determined to hold his own. 

“Oh, my God!”

“What now?”

She turned back to him, and let go of his hand. He snatched it away the second her fingers loosened.

“Vegeta, it’s ok to just admit you _ like _ someone! It’s not the end of the world and it doesn’t make you weak or whatever you think it does!”

“It will if I indulge in your petty distractions like I did on Namek ,” he said with a scoff. “Every hour that I spend not training, the closer your planet gets to its own destruction.”

Bulma opened her mouth, and slammed it shut again with a frown.

“Hold on, back up,” she said. “The ‘ _ closer your planet gets to its own destruction’ _ ? What happened to simply wanting to beat the androids?”

“Isn’t the point of beating them to save your blasted planet? Your arrogant and stupid race created the androids and it’ll be wiped out by them. Isn’t that why you offered me your  _ help _ ?” His tail swayed nervously, curling about his waist.

“I gave it to you because you’re the only one who asked for it!” She wiped her face, pulling at the skin around her eyes with a moan. This was not going like she had hoped, but to be fair, she had no idea how this was going to go in the first place  “Alright, now listen. I know you like me— _ don’t _ argue—and I like you, I was just… self conscious, and didn’t want to admit it because I thought it’d make things easier and now it’s made things  _ very  _ complicated.”

“That isn’t my fault,” he pointed out.

“Shut up! Just answer me this, do you want to be in a relationship with me?”

He stared, dumbfounded, and his voice returned. “Like what you and that bumbling oaf had?”

“ _ Yes!  _ I mean, no, not exactly! The Yamcha ship has sailed and I don’t want something like that again but—!”

“What the hell do you mean? Do you want it or not?” 

“Yes! But I want it with  _ you! _ Ugh!”

The silence tolled, a booming, echoing thing that drowned out all thought and sound. In the lull, Bulma’s thoughts began to race, and she buried her face in her hands. There was no backing out now, no “sorry I didn’t mean it” this time; she’d laid what she’d been thinking for months all bare. She dragged her hands down, peering at him from between her fingers.

Standing in the middle of the room, his shoulders squared, white knuckled fists at his side and his jaw clamped harder than a vice; most would think he was angry, on the verge of exploding, but she knew better. He’s petrified.

“Hey,” she said, softly. “Are you alright?”

Vegeta balked, and a mutinous laugh escaped her. She reached out, tentatively, her palm grazing the bare, tanned skin of his arm, and all the hairs prickled at her touch. He kept his tail wound tight about his waist, but the tip flexed, aching to thrash around.

“Yes,” he croaked.

She pressed her hands into his, and he watched the movement keenly; even his fingers had grown stiff. Bulma cleared her throat, mouth dry. “You can tell me if you’re not. I’m really not going to mind!” She said. “Like, we can stop this now and I won’t bring it up again, ever! It doesn’t have to be a thing at all—!”

Vegeta’s hands twitched, moving, and gave hers an uncertain squeeze. He does want this, he just doesn’t know what  _ this  _ is yet. If he’d been upset, or wasn’t interested, he’d be gone and halfway to the otherside of the continent by now; but instead he caught her gaze, and held it, curious.

“Was this your plan all along?” He asked, after a moment. The confidence returned to his voice, threading neatly between his words.

The relief pooled in Bulma’s gut, and she let out the breath she’d been holding with a sigh. 

“Mm? And what plan might that be?” Bulma asked, inching closer. She pressed her thigh against his experimentally, and his tail fell free.

“You should know better than to try and seduce me, woman.”

She choked back a laugh, and composed herself. “It’ll only work if you’re ok with it,” she said, before asking, voice low, “ _ are  _ you ok with it?”

She slipped one hand from his grasp, dragging it lightly up the length of his arm avoiding painful looking scars, and letting it rest on his shoulder. His frown lifted, and he made an effort to relax. He regarded her with the careful, measured eye of a fighter weighing up an opponent before the first match.

“As long as you know what you are getting yourself into,” he replied, carefully.

Beaming, Bulma moved closer, her hands finding the back of his neck and her chest pushed flush against his. She knew alright; and there was nothing she wanted to get into more.

“Am I allowed to kiss you? Or are you worried this is part of my plan?” She asked, gently working her fingers up through the base of his thick hair.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes, but a low rumble escaped his chest; like a purr. “I know it’s part of it. But I’m disciplined enough to resist it,” he drawled, one roughened hand tentatively catching her arm. “I’m not foolish enough to decline it, either.”

She leaned in, nose to his cheek, and kissed him.

There was no fantastical taste or rich and woody smell—not that she had been expecting one, just hot sweat and that morning’s lingering deodorant, but somehow it’s still good. She went to tilt his head, and he resisted, before understanding, and she dove deeper. He’s just as awkward and unsure as he was on Namek, only this time, he dared to close his eyes for once.

She guided one of his hands to her back, and the other soon followed.

Bulma paused, speaking into his mouth. “You’re still alright?”

“Always,” he muttered, bumping his forehead against hers to place a tender, if fumbling kiss on the corner of her mouth, and her heart swelled. She hugged him with one arm, the other hand still playing with the base of his mane.

Vegeta squeezed her waist, and she stifled another giggle.

“Come on, I wanna sit.”

He went rigid again, so Bulma quietly pulled him to the edge of the bed. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed, wanting him to sit back but he was stone beneath her fingers. He scowled up at her, and she recognised that dark, defiant gleam, and she tried in vain to stop another smile.

“I just want to sit on your lap,” she explained.

“ _ Why? _ ”

“Because it’s fun!” When he didn’t move, she threw back her head with a sigh. “It’s just something people do when they kiss each other for a long time. I’m tired of standing up, but I don’t want to stop holding you, ok?”

He stayed where he was, long seconds passing in silence until Bulma started to pull away and Vegeta lowered himself onto the mattress. He made a point to straighten up, and she knew it was the only invitation she was going to get. Pushing back her hair behind her ear with a hooded smile, Bulma hauled herself half into his waiting lap, her knees either side of him. She cupped his face, his skin boiling, and kissed his crown.

“You’re allowed to hold me,” she murmured with a sigh. She went to guide his hands once more, but they found her back without aide. One settled at the base of her spine, careful, but firm, as if worried she’d slip.

She pulled him closer, encouraging him to lean into her chest, and he stiffened again, but this time the colour bled down his neck. Crooning, she settled back onto his thighs, “hey, hey, it’s fine! What’s going on? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“You’re hard to read, and I just like to know your thoughts sometimes.”

“It may surprise you, woman, but I’m not thinking about anything,” he said, breath hot.

She ran her hand through his hair again. It was so thick; black and wiry like a dog’s, she didn’t know why she never noticed it before. “Tell me how you’re feeling then.”

Vegeta went quiet for a moment, contemplating. He continued to hold her close. “F-fine,” he mumbled. He glanced up at her from under a heavy brow, and she laughed softly.

“Don’t you worry about me, I’m fine too,” Bulma said, answering his silent question.

She’d kissed him plenty of times, or well, at least, enough for him to have a rough understanding of how it worked, so when she went to kiss him again, and he leaned away, wide eyed, she halted. She adjusted herself on his lap, and blinked.

_ Ah.  _ Now it made sense.

Sliding her hand under his jaw, she ran a thumb over the roughness of his cheek. “It’s ok, don’t worry about that,” she said, with a sly wink. She pressed her mouth to his again. “It’s probably the best compliment you’ve given me so far.”

She worked her arms around his neck, hugging him, and his muscles tensed, grabbing a fistful of shirt and letting go again instantly. She loosened her grip, stroking his hair and soothing until his battle worn frame gave way beneath her hands.

“I promise I’m not going to hurt you,” Bulma assured. She knew they were empty words, but there wasn’t much more she could say; Vegeta had gotten through life by killing first, to avoid being killed himself. His reflexes, his instincts, and his unconscious movements had all been orchestrated by the threat of potential harm. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t going to harm him, his body expected death constantly.

He gathered himself, and grunted.

“I doubt you ever could.” His hands whispered across her skin, fearful of leaving a mark. “I am just… not familiar with this.”

That was an understatement.

Bulma leaned back, hands running over his cheeks, smoothing out the tension. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, gently. “Besides, I just want to stay here for a while.”

His frown returned. “‘ _ You’ll get used to it’ _ ?”

Bulma offered him a coy smile, leaning into his. “Yeah, you will, since I hope this isn’t the last time we do this.”

She lost track of time, lips numb. Her shirt clung to her sweaty back, and she reached behind to peel it free. Outside the window, cicadas droned on in the sticky heat. Vegeta had kept quiet, and still, his hands barely moving from their position under her shoulder blades, leaving hot and heavy handprints behind. She didn’t mind though, in all honesty; she was used to her body being groped and kneaded like clay, and it was a pleasant change to have such an earnest— 

“Why are you doing this?” He flinched the second he asked.

Bulma shrugged, pulling her shirt off over her head and tossing it away. When she moved, his hands shot to his sides, gripping the bed sheet. “Hmm, well, I already told you,” she said. Reaching down, she carefully pried his hands from the bed, and returned them to her body. “I like you.”

Quietly, kindly, her thumb found his jaw and he obediently tilted his face for her to kiss. He gulped, sucking in a breath between his teeth before he leaned forward to meet her. The hard, normally unhappy line of his mouth twitched into a smile against hers, and the warmth surged between her ribs again.

He’s sweet. The thought burned into her brain as he experimentally squeezed her hip with a calloused hand.

“What do you like?” Bulma husked.

His frown returned. “What?”

Bulma placed her hands below his collarbone, palms flat, feeling his chest fill. “Like, how do you like to be touched?”

He continued frowning, and it hit her all at once that’d the thought had never occurred to him. His hands rested uncertain on her sides, placed there by her, and his lips puffy from her touch, and waiting for her next instruction—when he did kiss her, it was with the apprehensive tenderness of someone forced to improvise. To touch someone else, and to be touched _ kindly _ , was so foreign that it had never crossed his mind.

She kissed him again, and again, sweat forming on her crown. “Alright, new angle; I should have figured this out before I started trying to jump down your throat. Can  _ I  _ touch you and you tell me what you like or don’t like?”

“You’re already doing that,” Vegeta announced, gruffly, mouth to her neck. It’s clumsy, but it’s honest.

“Mmm, ok, you got me there!” She slipped her hand lower on his chest, until her fingers moved beneath the fabric, and trailed along his stomach. He shivered in her grasp, and she instinctively pressed closer, protective. “Is this ok?”

He gulped again, breathless. “Y-yes.”

With a nod, Bulma brought her hand to his front, his skin fever hot. She followed the line of soft, dark hair up and down his stomach, but didn’t dare breach the elastic of his track pants; that’d be asking far too much right now. She watched him carefully, how his breathing changed, or his expression wavered—until he started to sink back into the bed.

“I know you’ll hate me saying this, and you don’t have to believe me, but you really are a big sweetheart,” she said, voice hushed. She kissed his cheek, and with a shudder, his hand sunk lower on her hip.

She reached around behind him, following the curve of his spine. He sagged in her arms, like all the strings pulling him taut suddenly cut. He leaned against her, holding her close, and buried his face in the space between her shoulder and neck. He breathed deep against her skin, and dragged his mouth across her shoulder in a lazy way.

_ I _ could get used to this, she thought, tracing the wrought iron thew of his back.

She resisted the urge to rub her cheek against his hair, just to know what it felt like against something other than her hands. Her fingers grazed puckered scars and missing flesh, following his backbone down, but he didn’t react this time.

Bulma closed her eyes, smiling to herself. She could  _ definitely _ get used to this.

Vegeta could complain and carry on all he wanted if he was going to hold her and hum into her throat like this every once in a while. Well, she thought, hugging him tighter, depending on how rude he was, of course. Her hand drifted lower, and her nails dragged lightly across the hairy base of his tail.

A jolt ran up his spine and Vegeta recoiled, the bed vaulting. Bulma fell back onto the floor, sentences running together, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Did I hurt you? Are you ok?”

The ki surged like gunpowder, rippling blue and white down his arms and writhing between his clenched hands. He reeled back on the bed, wild eyed and ashen, and his hand clawed at his heaving chest. He pulled at his shirt, trembling, his fingers fumbling to stop the bleeding from a wound that no longer existed.

Bulma dropped to her knees beside him, her hands held in front of her. “Hey, hey, hey, Vegeta, it’s ok! You’re alright! Look at me!”

She wanted to touch him, to drag him back physically to the present if she had to, but the ki still crackled, her teeth and jaws aching as the iron static filled the room. His head snapped in her direction, his chest heaving. He dragged his hand over the lumpy mark above his heart, and his breath caught in his throat. Pulling the shirt back, he revealed the scar just above his heart, where a bolt had once pierced between his ribs and through his lung.

“Vegeta—it’s ok, you’re on Earth,” Bulma said, struggling to keep the panic from her words. “You’re here, I’m here, it’s ok. It’s ok.”

He doubled over, raking his hands across his scalp, and trembled.

Minutes passed in silence, until his rattling breath slowed. The static that crawled across Bulma’s skin, pulling at her teeth, finally waned, and vanished.

“I shouldn’t have gone there,” Bulma began. She wanted to touch him, to just ground him there with her, but she kept her hands stiffly in her lap. “We’ll stop now.”

“I-I’m sorry.” It came out in a wheeze, his throat a vice. 

“No, no, no! It’s ok! This isn’t your fault, I know this wasn’t your fault; I-I should have asked,” Bulma said, scooting closer, kneeling at his side.

She moved on the spot to try and see his face. His skin was waxy, a ghastly shadow of his normal self. She waited a little longer, before she risked reaching out to take his hand. He glanced down, and blinked. His free hand still hovered around his chest, rubbing the scar through the fabric.

“I won’t do that ever again, ok?” She said, voice hoarse. “I promise, I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he gulped. He looked up, and finally lowered his hand. His mouth moved, but no words came out, and it took him another minute to find his voice. “It took me by surprise.”

“You and I both know that wasn’t  _ surprise _ , Vegeta.”

“I’m fine.”

Very carefully, Bulma got to her feet again. She went to put her arm around him, to embrace him like anyone else, but pulled back. “H-hey, do you want a hug?”

He stared at the ground, taking slow, deliberate breaths through his nose, his jaw clenched to the point of pain. Bulma cleared her throat, making to pull away but he held her hand firm, and dipped his chin in a curt, reverent nod. Bulma reached around, her hand firm against his back, before she leaned into his side and hugged him.

“I’ll get used to it,” he announced, suddenly. There was a resolve in his voice she recognised, one he only got when he talked about defeating the androids, when he talked about his ascension—it was a certainty that channeled a thousand Saiyans before him. “I will get used to this.”

Somewhere outside, beyond the window, the cicada song had stopped, the day finally too hot and humid for them to continue. Bulma licked her lips, and dared to hug him a little tighter. “I know you will, it just takes time.”

The sun blared directly overhead Capsule Corp. and Bulma allowed her gaze to move between the wilting bushes and trees, and the burning blue sky above them. A band of black clouds reared on the horizon, like spilled ink creeping slowly above the city. The air conditioner hummed distantly in the walls, and cool air whispered across her bare back.

When Vegeta finally shifted beside her, clearing his throat, she realised she’d been holding him to her breast. She let go, sliding off the edge of the bed, and groped for her abandoned shirt. She wrenched it on over her head, and a careful hand pulled it down at the back for her. She turned in time to see Vegeta glancing away, adjusting his own shirt with a flush. He seemed better now; but his stern, impassable scowl had etched it’s way back across his features.

Bulma tossed her head, brushing her fringe aside with a whistle. “Hey! Where are you going now?”

Vegeta paused by the door, shoulders hunched. He glanced from her face to the door handle, frowning. “Training.”

“Yeah, nah, you can’t use that excuse with me right now. You’re in no state to train!” She said, crossing the room with a hand on her hip.

He straightened, rising to the challenge with an adamant flick of his tail. “Woman, I’ve hardly had any time to myself since I got to this blasted planet,” he retorted, and it was a relief to see his formidable glare. “If you had any sense you’d see that distracting me only hurts _ your _ chances of survival.”

She muscled in beside him, and opened the door with a delicate look, fighting against a grin that willed to breach her lips.

“Excuse me? I’m the one who gave you that fancy pants Gravity Room you love so much!” She scoffed. He rolled his eyes, but the colour had come back to his features, and his stance relaxed. She didn’t want him out of her sight just yet though. “Come on, you’ve been cooped up all day, why not have some lunch with mum and I?”

“I am not doing that.”

“Mum made meatloaf last night, and there’s still a big Vegeta sized portion just waiting to be heated up!” Bulma sang, taking hold of his wrist, and dragging him over the threshold into the hallway.

He ground his teeth, and looked away with a sniff. “Fine, if it will keep you quiet.”

She made to let go of his wrist, but he caught her hand before it slipped. He waited, dutifully, his eyes cast low and Bulma threw her head back in a dramatic sigh. She made a show of dragging him down the hall, while he stormed along behind her, and she held his hand for as long as she dared.


	7. DAY 91

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dweams

Vegeta had always slept poorly, or not at all; he would retire to bed in the wee hours of the morning and emerge again at the first hint of dawn and as far as Bulma knew. He had nightmares before he’d come to stay here, she knew that, but the encounter in his bedroom the other week had revealed a deeper wound than Bulma was expecting.

She’d tried, in vain, to explain the psychology behind a flashback, but he’d shrugged it off and barked about how nothing was wrong; it was just simply an inconvenience to be overcomed. She’d thought about sleeping pills, but he’d never forgive her if he found out she’s spiked his food, or  _ asked _ . As far as he was concerned, this was something that he could only take head on, and by training, and he would still wake, shuddering and shouting, every few nights.

At least she had gotten him to admit that it bothered him, in some way.

The static crawled across her arms, and she woke to the still quiet of midnight. Ki crept under the door, and up her spine with all the subtlety of a rapidly burning fuse. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Bulma smoothed the hairs on her neck down, and grabbed the already prepared glass of water from her bedside table. She picked her way down the hall, and opened the offending door.

Vegeta writhed on the mattress, the sheets balled and kicked to the bottom of the bed. Sweat stained his pillows, and he babbled in his sleep, eyes rolling, his hands glowing.

Bulma placed the glass on the nightstand, and steeled herself before she spoke. “Hey! Vegeta, wake up!”

He jumped, and grabbing the fitted sheet to stop himself toppling off the bed. His head snapped in her direction, the ki gnashing between his teeth before his eyes adjusted, and he saw her. Bulma didn’t bother turning on the light.

With deliberate slowness, she took a seat beside him, before leaning over to grab the glass again. “Here you go,” she said, placing it into his waiting hand.

“You’ll end up dead one of these days, woman,” he growled.

He drained the glass, and she tilted her head thoughtfully, picking apart his sentence. She’d gotten better at Vegeta to Regular Person translations.

“You haven’t hurt me yet,” she said, finally. He held out the empty glass impatiently, and she took it again with a long, low yawn. “Alright, let’s get these back in order.”

She leaned forward, pulling the loose sheets towards her with her heel and Vegeta stiffened. “Bulma, what are you doing?”

She grabbed one of the pillows that had fallen to the floor, and set it up behind her. “Going to bed.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“Vegeta, shh! Far out, you’ll wake up the whole city—!”

“You are not sleeping here!” He hissed.

“Ok, well, have fun sleeping in my bed or the floor or wherever because I’m staying put.”

“Are you out of your mind?” He ripped the sheet off, glaring. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Bulma met his scowl par for par, snatching the sheet back from his hands. “Oh, what? You’re afraid of getting a case of the cooties?”

“I don’t want whatever foul disease you’ve contracted to make you think this is acceptable, no!”

“Hey.” Her hand settled on his fist, and he froze. “Enough theatrics. I’m going to stay with you and wake you if you start having a nightmare to save me from running down the hall all the time.”

He clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his skull didn’t implode. He stayed there, half prone on the bed, ready to leave with the moon at his back and his tail bristled like a brush. With painstaking, measured slowness, he moved, and lowered himself down, as far away from her as physically possible while still remaining on the mattress. She didn’t think it was possible, but Vegeta made even lying down seem like a potentially deadly act.

Bulma smiled, rubbing her cheek against the pillow. “What’s that look for, handsome?” She asked with a smile.

“Shut up. Don’t play dumb with me. You know what it’s for.”

“You’re still handsome even if you give me that look.”

“Shut  _ up _ ,” he seethed between his teeth.

Bulma adjusted herself, tucking her arms up under the pillow, lying flat on her tummy. Vegeta watched her warily. “I’m not going to do anything,” she mumbled into the pillow, closing her eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

“So do I but you’ve decided to make it inexplicably difficult.”

Eyes closed, she smiled. “Do you want me to give you a kiss goodnight?”

He snarled, and the mattress shifted, the force almost sending Bulma flying. Vegeta rolled over, his back to her, every fibre of his being coiled tight as a spring. Outside the window, Bulma’s eyes picked the details of the distant tree line of the compound’s grounds, and the dirty orange glow of West City. A few brave stars managed to gleam between the clouds and haze, and the moon hung low in the sky.

Bulma stretched her arm out along the sheets, hesitating for a moment, before touching the space between his shoulder blades. She waited for the throaty growl of “ _ woman _ ” but he stayed quiet. She ran her fingers lightly along his back, and murmured, “you’ve had a hard life.”

He grunted in acknowledgement, and she felt it resonate up her fingers. “How observant of you,” he grumbled, but he made no effort to shake her off.

“So hard you don’t know how to cope when it’s not,” she said. She watched him carefully, and under her hand, his shoulders slowly gave way. “You’ve bottled things up for so long, and been so focussed on whatever task was at hand that your body and your brain hasn’t had time to process what’s happened to you, and now, they finally have the time.”

“I do not need a lecture, woman,” he said, but there was no harshness to his words.

She scooted a little closer, trying not to move the bed, letting her hand lay flat against his skin. “I’m not trying to lecture you,” she mumbled. “I just want you to know this isn’t your fault, and it will get easier. It all just takes time.”

“Hmph.”

“Mum wants to kit your wardrobe out too,” she added, lightly. She moved her hand in slow, lazy circles, following the natural planes and angles of his back. She felt every minute movement through her palm.

“I have enough,” he said. Despite being a prince, it seemed Vegeta had an aversion to  _ owning _ things. He didn’t like to have an excess of anything. In his eyes, anything that was more than the bare essentials he needed was a luxury, or, more increasingly, Bulma learned,  _ baggage _ .

“She’d like to, just think of it as a gift. She wants you to have more choice.”

“Training is not a fashion show,” he groused, but his words ended with a quiet sigh.

Bulma dared to move closer, just a fraction; just an  _ inch _ . “Sometimes people give others things because they care about them,” she said, carefully. “It’s just mum’s way of being supportive. I just wanted you to know before you got inundated with the most expensive tracksuits in town.”

A minute passed in silence, and Bulma settled, hand still running along his back. He spoke, his voice soft, “I thought you were tired.”

She laughed, eyes heavy. “I am.”

“Hurry up and go to sleep then, you blasted woman.”

She must have drifted off after that, because when she woke, she blinked against the pale light spilling in through the glass doors. The first hint of pink and gold hues streaked across the sky. Bulma stretched, spreading her legs and arching her back with a groan, and opened her eyes.

She thought, for a second, that her room had rotated, somehow, until she heard the sound of someone rummaging around in a wardrobe, clothes hangers clattering against each other. Bulma sat up, and Vegeta stood. They locked eyes, and his frown deepened.

“Hi,” Bulma yawned, rubbing the grit away. “The fuck time do you call this then?”

Vegeta tore a shirt off a hanger, and worked it on over his head. “Dawn,” he said, tersely.

“Did you sleep ok?”

He sat on the end of the bed, and the mattress tilted. He bent down, pulling on the trusty sneakers Bunny had gotten him the day he’d arrived. “Fine,” he grunted.

Bulma wiped her face again, eyes puffy. Well, at least he didn’t say ‘badly’.

She went to touch his shoulder, but thought better of it, and slumped into the pillows announcing, “today feels likes a bacon and eggs day.”

Vegeta ignored her, tying his shoelaces. She’d wondered how he’d known how to tie laces when she first saw him wearing something other than boots, but she’d figured there were only so many ways you could possibly tie a shoe across the universe.

“You can have some if you want,” she offered. She saw his tail flick, and hid her smile.

“Unlike you woman, I have things to do before I think about food,” he said, dryly. He got to his feet, and tucked his tail away under the hem of his shorts.

“I’ll make you some, and maybe some hash browns, or some pancakes,” she listed a few of them on her fingers. He grunted again, and grabbed a fresh towel from the dresser. “It’ll be ready at eight-thirty! You can’t turn up an hour late!” She called after him, as he slipped out the door, and shut it firmly. She slammed her head back on the pillow, and listened to his footsteps fade.

The sheets smelled like him, and she hated admitting how comfortable she felt in them. Staring up at the ceiling, she stretched her arms above her head. How many nights had he just lain here wide awake staring up at the whitewash?

A few minutes later, the Gravity Room kicked into life, and Bulma finally hauled herself out of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short! Its just because the next one is So Long


	8. DAY 92

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting: Mastered  
> Killing: MAstered  
> Smirking: Mastered  
> Crying: here's where they start trying to trick you  
> Kissing: this one's hard

The teaspoon clinked against the side of her cup, the steam rising. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the kitchen, and Bulma kept a close eye on the stove top, opening the fridge and putting the milk back. Behind her, Bunny flicked through a magazine, picking away at her unrolled crepe.

“Mum, why do you read that stuff?” Bulma asked, lifting her coffee to her mouth. “It’s all lies.”

Bunny turned a page with a bemused look. “Entertaining lies, dear,” Bunny corrected.

Outside, cicadas sang early in the wake of a hot, wet night. Pillars of white cloud rose up against the peerless blue sky, and sunlight poured in through the glass doors overlooking the garden.

Bunny closed the magazine with a delicate hand, tilting her head. “Bulma, dear, you’re up very early,” she began, brow arched. “Are you expecting someone?”

Bulma scowled over the top of her cup. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

Someone thumped down the stairs, the glass door sliding open and shut again as a dark figure stalked across the patio towards the lab buildings.

“Oh, my,” Bunny said, lowering her fork. “Does he know that the Gravity Room is being upgraded today?”

Bulma flipped the bacon at arm's length, and the oil sizzled. “He will soon enough.”

She opened the cupboard above the sink and pulled out two plates, and counted down under her breath. It normally took him a few minutes to storm over there, only a few seconds for him to realise that the pipes and cables were disconnected, and an instant for him to appear in her face to interrogate her. She placed a plate down, and started piling on still smoking bacon.

On cue, a shriek that could break the sound barrier tore through the grounds. The windows shuddered in their frames, and Bulma idly slid four sunny side up eggs next to the mound of bacon. It wouldn’t be enough for a meal by his standards, but it might be enough to soothe a bruised ego.

“Oh, dear me,” Bunny crooned, leaning across her stool to see the garden. “He doesn’t sound happy.”

The glass doors flew open, and Bulma thought she heard one of them come off the plastic runs.

“ _Woman!_ _Explain yourself this instant!_ ”

The toaster sounded, and Bulma reached for four, brown slices. “No yelling!” She said, firmly. “Dad and I are upgrading the Gravity Room which means it’ll be out of commission for a few days.”

Vegeta stood in the doorway, the indignation coming off him in ki lined waves. He crossed the room, brandishing a crumpled sheet of paper, with OUT OF ORDER written in chunky marker, and a frowny face with spiky hair scrawled beneath it. “What do you call  _ this? _ ”

“It’s a sign, duh,” Bulma replied, buttering the last slice of toast and stacking them neatly next to the bacon and eggs. “Do you want any mushrooms?”

“How long will these upgrades take?” Vegeta seethed, grinding his teeth. “And no I do not want  _ mushrooms _ ! Don’t avoid my question!”

“They’ll take as long as they take, Vegeta. We ordered a bunch of components and some have arrived, and some haven’t; it should only be a few days, a week at most—!”

“A week is too long!” Vegeta snapped, gripping the glued together edge of the countertop. It was still cracked from last time he’d had a tantrum.

“Well, if you want 300 times Earth’s gravity you are just going to have to be patient, because as the Gravity Room currently stands, it can’t take much more than 200, so it’ll need to be reinforced and expanded, we’ll have to change the engines and swap out the old cores to something that can withstand that kind of pressure—”

“300 times?”

“Yes! So why don’t you  _ stop yelling _ and just have some breakfast! Look, I made you all this because I’m such a generous and lovely person,” Bulma said, pushing the plate under his nose. She saw Vegeta’s mouth twitch.

With a growl, he pulled a stool out a little too violently, and sat down, shoulders hunched. Bunny handed him a knife and fork, and he snatched it from her fingers.

“A break might do you good, Vegeta, honey! You’ve been working so hard, sometimes it’s nice to have some time off to relax! Think of it as a vacation,” Bunny said, pushing her empty plate aside and reaching for her cup of tea. Vegeta paused shovelling food into his mouth long enough to shoot Bunny a dark look, but she just smiled. “And my, it’s such a beautiful day to start, don’t you think?”

Bulma hid her smirk behind her coffee, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, Vegeta,” Bulma began. “Maybe you can pick up a hobby that doesn’t involve almost killing yourself every day?”

“If I did that you would pass out from boredom or laziness before any Androids arrive,” he growled. “Saiyans do not take ‘ _ vacations _ ’.” He spat the word like a slur.

“I’m sure you’ll find something else to entertain you, Vegeta, dear,” Bunny offered with a sympathetic look. She caught Bulma’s eye with a shrewd smile. “Well, I best be off! The garden doesn’t take care of itself!” She announced, gliding past Bulma and towards the glass patio doors.

Vegeta wolfed his breakfast down, and Bulma waited until she heard the door slide shut again. She put her mug down, and grinned at him. “You should have breakfast with us more often!”

Vegeta grunted between a mouthful of eggs, and Bulma’s smile grew. She pushed her coffee towards him, and he cast a critical eye over it before looking up at her. He swallowed. “What?”

“Do you wanna try? You might like it!”

He sniffed, and his nose wrinkled. “I don’t want your cup of tar, woman, I can tell you made this given how foul it stinks.”

“Ha  _ ha _ , nice try but mum made this, I,  _ however _ , made your precious bacon, and eggs, and toast, and beans, and hashbrowns, and everything else on that and four other plates,” she said with a sweet smile. Leaning on the benchtop, she ran her finger over the edge of the coffee mug in thought. “Mum would be ecstatic if you joined us. She loves cooking for you; and you might like being with people for a change.”

“I do not care what that vapid woman thinks,” he said.

“That ‘vapid woman’ thinks you’re cute.”

He gripped the fork too hard, and it bent in half. Sitting back, he carefully straightened it before stuffing the last of his toast and bacon into his mouth. “So delusions run in your family,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “I always thought your foolishness was genetic.”

“Ugh! Come on, don’t be mad about the Gravity Room. It’ll be bigger and better than ever when I’m done with it, there’s no need to grouse.”

He pushed the plate away from him. “Then get to it, woman. Make yourself useful.”

“Oh? And what are you going to do in the meantime, prince jerk?” She slipped out from behind the kitchen bench. She made sure to lean across the bench top, so her carefully picked out plunging neckline was on full display, but Vegeta’s expression remained apathetic.

“Train in other ways,” he said, simply. “Like I did before your faulty bots.”

“They are not  _ faulty _ , you just  _ destroy them _ !” She snarled, dropping the act and straightening up. “They are not made to withstand direct hits!”

“Then what’s the point of them?” He barked back. “How am I meant to spar with things that break the second you turn them on?”

“ _ Uuughh! _ You don’t appreciate anything! Just go do some crunches or push ups or whatever!”

The stool scraped across the linoleum, and he stood up, and Bulma bit her tongue. Standing at eye level, the sun catching the back of his hair, and the puckered scarred skin peeking out from beneath his shirt, she remembered all at once that theirs was a tenuous peace. She felt confident that Vegeta would never hurt her directly, but the Earth and everything that lived on it was another matter entirely.

He raised one, thick brow, and his voice came out deadly smooth. “Be careful, woman,” he warned, holding her gaze. “Someone might make note of that poor excuse for a shirt and make assumptions.”

Bulma blinked, taken aback, and the corner of his mouth hiked up in a sneer. She settled back on her heel. “It’s a nice top,” she said, fighting a smile. “But that  _ was _ the other reason I wore it.”

Vegeta rolled his eyes, and the tension snapped. “You’re obnoxious.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He sniggered, but dipped his chin in a firm nod. “I’m glad we can come to an agreement,” he said, voice low, before turning to head off in the direction of the stairs, but Bulma’s hand caught his.

“I was joking! You don’t have to go off and train or anything; you should have a break! It’s not good to train all the time!”

He ripped his hand from hers. “And what would  _ you _ know about training?” He seemed genuinely annoyed now, his hackles up.

Bulma skipped around in front of him, inches away, and Vegeta moved back a fraction, glaring. “A few hours wouldn’t hurt you!” She insisted. “You could… I dunno, read a book, watch tv, just chill out for a bit!”

Vegeta pushed past her, but she caught his hand again, desperate. “Or we could hang out!”

He threw his head back with a mirthless laugh. “Why would I want to do that?”

“ _ Because _ , genius,” she started, her hands planted firmly on her hips. She leaned forward again, chest in view, and Vegeta’s glance lingered a little longer than last time. “I can be fun to be around!”

Vegeta leaned back carefully, regarding her. His shirt moved, and his tail unwound slowly from his waist, swaying by his side. “I don’t do ‘fun’,” he replied.

With a tilt of her head, Bulma’s smile lengthened. “Yeah, you do,” she said, gently.

Something flitted across Vegeta’s face, some unreadable emotion writhing just beneath the surface. The sway of his tail slowed, and stilled. After a second, the tip flicked.

He cleared his throat. “What do you suggest?”

 

The moment the door closed, Vegeta’s hands found her hips, and Bulma jumped. His nose pressed to hers, and he kissed like this was the last chance he might get. Bulma worked her arms out from between them awkwardly, and thread them around his shoulders. His grip tightened, and he forced the air from her lungs with a hiss.

“Ok, ok, ok, slow down! Slow  _ down _ , tiger,” she wheezed, and Vegeta reeled back.

“W-what?” He asked, unsure.

Bulma reached up, pulling her ponytail out and working the hairband around her wrist. “The world isn’t ending! At least let me get my shoes and stuff off if you’re going to go this hard!”

She moved to the middle of the room, and Vegeta’s heavy gaze bored into the back of her skull. Once Vegeta had decided on something, it drew all his energy and focus like a neutron star, and Bulma quickly realised, that she’d started to wander into his orbit. She moved artfully, kicking off her shoes with faux casualness, and feeling his eyes follow every movement. She slipped the Capsule Corp. jacket off her shoulder, tossing it aside onto the floor, and Vegeta curled his lip.

She got to her feet, arms wide, and Vegeta eyed her hungrily.

“Ta-da! All done—!”

She gasped into his mouth, and he tugged at her lip impatiently, but not painfully. Her mouth parted, and he dove in, tongue against hers.

“F-far out,” she managed between his hasty kisses. He cut her off with another nip, leaving her bottom lip hot and swollen. “What’s gotten into you?”

He paused, searching her face. “I thought you wanted this?” He asked. He went to straighten up, and pull back, but she caught him about the neck. 

Bulma hugged him, trailing her fingernails along the nape of his neck and kissing the spot eagerly. “I do! I do!” She grinned. “I just—I just wasn’t expecting you to be so forward!”

“There’s no point in wasting time,” Vegeta announced, regarding her before cautiously pressing his crown to hers. “If I’m to master this, then I need practice.”

The blush shot from Bulma’s crown to her chest, and her heart skidded to a stop. He kissed her neck, still a little clumsy, but passionate. She stroked the back of his head, digging through the foreign texture of his hair, and when she felt his hand do the same.

“Is that all this is to you?” She asked, suddenly sharp. “Training?”

“No,” he replied, pulling experimentally at the softest, thinnest hair at the back of her neck, like she would do. “But can’t it be both? Besides, if you’re not going to upgrade the Gravity Room, then the least you can do is entertain me.”

“I am  _ not _ your entertainment, thank you very much!” Bulma scolded, but she continued to kiss him, working one hand down his chest, following the curve of his torso. “But feel free to keep _ me _ occupied for a few hours.”

He bit her lip a little harder, before kissing the sting away. “I’m not a plaything.”

“Neither am I.”

She didn’t want to compare. Yamcha and Vegeta were just so different in every way it’d be pointless, but with Vegeta’s big, roughened hand tentatively pushing up her shirt; she couldn’t help but think about how Yamcha used to paw at her curves sometimes like a shitty porno.

She guided him back to the bed, and sat herself down, pulling him into her. He resisted at first, shoulders back, his stance regal, until he realised what she wanted him to do, and then he sunk into her. He puffed, breath short, and when her hand drifted over his chest, she felt his heart thrash against his ribs.

“D-do you like this?” Bulma asked. She stroked his bicep, her fingers tracing along a scar, and he flinched. She let her fingers run along unmarked skin instead, and he relaxed a fraction. “Making out I mean.”

“I’d like it well enough if you didn’t call it that,” he announced, stiffly. He might as well have reviewed it five stars as far as Bulma was concerned; he never admitted to liking anything.

She took his hand in hers, and placed his boiling palm against her cheek. She leaned against it, and his fingers curled into her hair, brushing her ear. His dark eyes darted from his hand to her face in rapid thought, before he sucked in a breath, and dared to caress her with his thumb.

She went to say something—something about how tragic that movement was; that she’d, for a moment, felt heartbroken for him—but she preferred annoying him. “Well, I like this, and I think you’re the most handsome Saiyan I know!”

“Shut up! It’s not much of a competition if it’s between Kakarot and I,” he said, rolling his eyes, before he returned to kissing her cheek, his hand burning against her ear. “You spout too much nonsense sometimes, woman. Save your breath for once.”

“‘ _ Nonsense _ ’? Don’t tell me I’m the only person who calls you that?”

He stilled, and she felt the muscles in his hand twitch against her face. He glanced away, brow furrowed. “It’s unimportant at any rate,” he said, at length. “My appearance doesn’t dictate how strong I am, and that’s all that matters to a Saiyan.”

“I guess,” Bulma mused. She reached up with both hands, tracing the hard angles and planes of his face with a critical eye. “But I still think you’re handsome—plus you don’t like when I call you cute, and I wanna call you something.”

“That’s because it sounds stupid, just like the rest of your ridiculous Earth slang,” he said, and then it all made sense. It was all about pride, and about appearing as strong and as capable as possible, and having someone as ‘diminutive’ in power as her say he was ‘cute’ was a blow to his ego. But still; she closed her eyes, and kissed his lips, trying not to giggle when her tongue pushed against his and he startled. He really  _ was _ cute.

Vegeta’s broad chest pinned her to the sheets. His knees dug into the mattress, and his tail shivered like a cat being pet, but when she went to hold him he seized up.

Fine, if wasn’t going to let her hug him, then she’d try something else.

“Shirt,” she commanded, and Vegeta leaned back, unsure.

Bulma wriggled out of her shirt, stretching her arms above her head, and Vegeta bobbed his head avoiding a hail of fists and elbows until her shirt came free. She tossed it overhead, and Vegeta froze again. She held out one hand expectantly, and Vegeta adjusted himself. He took her offered hand with a curious cock of the head.

She placed it firmly on her breast, and all his confidence vanished in red.

“Now, be nice, please,” she instructed, squeezing his hand for him, guiding his fingers under her bra to cup her chest. “I don’t like being groped.”

He kept his eyes fixed on hers, afraid to look down. Bulma tilted her head with a smile, and showed him how firm he was allowed to be, before reaching for her bra straps and pulling them down. “You can kiss me too,” she husked.

Spellbound, he leaned forward, and pressed his nose flat against her clavicle in peck. Her hand slipped from his, and he maintained her set rhythm. “Is… this acceptable?” He asked, voice tight.

“Mmm, yeah…” Bulma hummed. “Wait—hold on, let me get this off. It’s a bit of a chore—c’mon!  _ Shit _ , these things never work when you need them to— _ ah-ha _ !” She slipped her bra off, and Vegeta’s eyes bulged.

He slapped both hands to her breasts, red from head to tail and Bulma cackled, “h-hey! Oh, my god! It’s fine! It’s fine! They are  _ just _ tits, it’s all good—!”

“Bulma! Have you no shame?” He hissed, torn between keeping her covered, and ripping his hands away. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Freeing the West City Twins,” she said, smartly. “What’s wrong? You’re acting like you’ve never seen a pair of breasts before!”

“Don’t presume you know me, woman! I’ve  _ seen _ nudity! But this is just obscene!”

“I know, I’m pretty hot, right?” Bulma grinned. She placed her hands on his with a sly look. “But it’s just you and me. No one else gets to see this, no one else knows about this,” she crooned, encouraging him to at least loosen his death grip. “And at the end of the day, it’s just skin, nothing special, nothing outrageous. Besides, you’re the only person lucky enough to get to see me half naked at the moment.”

“What a privilege!” He hissed between clenched teeth. “When should I start to count my blessings?”

“Come on, come on, it’s ok, Vegeta! I like you and trust you enough to get my top off,” Bulma said, trying to pry his hands from her in vain before tearing out his throat saying, “You must like ‘em if you won’t let go of them!”

He shot up, hands snapping back to his sides. He kneeled over her, looking away and ready to blast a hole in the spot in the floor where he fixed his gaze. Bulma sat up slightly, propped up on her elbows.

“You’re repugnant!” He growled.

“Can I have another kiss?”

He stopped short of clambering off her, and deliberately avoided looking at her chest when he turned back. “You really are shameless.”

“I doubt you’d have me any other way. So, can I?”

He glared, grinding his teeth. He teetered forward, like a tree falling, slow at first and then all at once, and kissed her. She felt the corners of his mouth twitch through her lips, and opened an eye just in time to see him smile. He kept his hands far away from her chest, bent over double in a predatory crouch with his tail held high.

“You’re so nice to me,” she sighed, earning a short warning growl. It wasn’t as vicious as previous ones, and she smiled to herself.

She kissed him until her lips were raw, and her back caked in sweat, and after a long time, he gingerly lifted a hand and placed it to her chest. She resisted the urge to wrench him forward, and bury him in the valley of her beast, but Vegeta didn’t need much coaxing. He settled against her, one knee between hers, and dared to kiss her below her neck again. When he cupped her chest, and glanced up at her, brow raised in a question, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from nodding wildly.

So what if he thinks of this as training?

What harm could it do? It was better he thought of it like a skill that needed to be honed, rather than a battle to be won. At least if he saw it as a skill, then he saw them both as equals.

He seemed unsure of how to proceed, and frowned at her chest, his dark eyes moving from freckle to freckle until Bulma’s hand slid against his cheek. He looked up, waiting for direction, and she found her mouth dry. “Whatever you do, I’m sure I’ll like it.”.

“That isn’t helpful,” Vegeta replied, and she laughed. His frown deepened, and she did her best to swallow her grin.

“I-I know, I know, sorry. I just don’t want to bombard you.”

“Hmph.”

“Plus you keep getting embarrassed when I say stuff.”

Just to prove her point, his cheeks darkened. “I’m not embarrassed,” he managed, jaw stiff, but kept his hand on her chest, very gently squeezing. “You just make an effort to be as obscene as possible.”

“If you think _ this  _ is obscene, you’re going to be in for a wild ride.”

His tail bristled, every hair standing on end, and he made to object but she pulled him into a hug. He stiffened, ready to rip himself free, but he held fast, hardly breathing. She stroked his back, and after a long while, he lowered himself willingly into her arms with a groan.

She held him, curling a lock of hair about her finger. She glanced down at the clock, and felt his mouth trail across the top of her chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“W-we can do this more, you know,” Bulma croaked. “Just, if you wanted to.”

He shot up, frowning. His cheeks still glowed faintly pink. “I thought that was the point.”

Bulma searched his eyes for the missing words, and filled in the blanks with a nod. “You never said ‘yes’ to wanting something with me.”

“That’s because I am not going to replace that weakling dolt and follow you around at all hours of the day,” he said. “I am not lowering myself to that cheap display.”

“And I said I didn’t want another Yamcha.”

His smirk waned, and he averted his gaze. “You did not tell me what was involved.”

“Well, it’s pretty self explanatory,” Bulma replied. “You get to kiss me, and I get to kiss you, plus everything else you already have now; a bed, clothes, all the food you could ever want and you get to have Earth’s most attractive and talented scientist personally upgrade your one of a kind Gravity Room—”

“Good.” He leaned in to lock lips and caught her raised hand.

“I’m not finished,” she said. “You get to have all of that, but it isn’t a one way street.”

“Your point being, woman?”

“I want you to listen to me, and let me help you, and respect me.”

Vegeta scoffed, brows raised. “Respect you?” He asked, incredulous. “I’ve done nothing but even in the face of your lack of initiative and your laziness—not blowing up your planet the moment I could is proof enough.”

“I am  _ not  _ always lazy,” Bulma replied, but she kissed his nose, and he squeezed her breast again with another smug look. “And you are as rude and shitty as they come, actually!”

“Perhaps you should ask for your pet back then?”

“Ugh! You’re such a _ jerk _ !” She grabbed either side of his face, and pulled him into a kiss. He jumped, taken by surprise, but quickly followed her lead.

He pushed her back into the pillows, his own hands finding her cheeks, barely touching. He spoke between scalding, earnest kisses, “you are not to tell anyone about this.” She heard the steel behind his words. “Or I’ll level this planet and everything on it.”

“Trust me,” Bulma puffed, running her tongue over his bottom lip. “I don’t want anyone to find out either.”

They tangled together, limbs knotted, and mouths tied. Words quickly fell away, leaving only heavy breathing and the groan of the bed, and the occasional, stifled giggle that managed to slip from Bulma’s mouth.

Eventually, Vegeta pulled away, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hand as he grumbled something about how much time had past, and missing training. He only let go when Bulma quietly lifted his hands from her, her cheeks shining. She nodded, throat parched. “Y-yeah, yeah, it’s been a while,” she agreed.

Vegeta got off the bed, his tail giving one last violent shudder, before he set it around his waist. When he adjusted his shirt, she risked a glance at the front of his shorts, and hid her smirk. “I’ll see you tonight, then,” she said, watching him grab his towel from where he’d dumped it, and wipe his face and neck.

He grunted, but the end of his tail flicked. He closed the door behind him, and the spell on Bulma’s lungs broke. She sucked in a deep breath, collapsing back onto the pillows with the biggest grin in weeks. Her hands flew to her face, to touch her cheeks and mouth and make sure the cooling spots left by his kisses were real.

She kicked her legs out excitedly, and squealed into her fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoorgh, i really love writing these two dumbos. I'm also sorry for throwing Yamcha under the bus a lot, chalk it up to Bulma being mad at him and Vegeta I guess just being the worst person alive


	9. DAY 110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a little one :^)

Bulma woke in the dark to the now all too familiar static running down her arms, but a silent house. Rain pelted the roof of Capsule Corp. She rolled over with a sigh, rubbing her eyes. The clock glowed on the nightstand; 02:34AM. That was usually the time.

She kicked the sheets off, and outside rain pelted the windows, running down the glass in streams. She made to roll out of bed, already groping for her phone to use as a torch, but there was a soft knock on the door. She sat up, stock still.

No one ever  _ knocked _ ; even her parents would knock and follow it up with something or just open her door straight away. She blinked, and realised the static in the air had vanished.

“Sorry! I’m up!” She called, voice hushed. “Come in!”

There was a pause, and for a moment, Bulma wondered if she had imagined it, but the handle turned, and the door opened. Vegeta glared down at the floor, jaw set. Bulma went to jump up to meet him, but he stepped inside and closed the door quietly. Sweat stained the front of his shirt, his olive skin bleached and chalky, and he crossed the room, eyes low. Without looking at her, he unceremoniously got into the bed beside her, and pulled a pillow under his cheek.

Bulma waited a few seconds. When he didn’t move, she settled back, regarding him.

“Do you want some water?”

He didn’t answer.

With a sigh, Bulma lay back into her pillow. She rolled over, facing his scarred back, like she’d done several nights before. She reached out, tentatively touching his shoulder, and he didn’t flinch for once.

“Did something change?” She asked. It was better than asking if he was fine. His tail flicked under the sheets.

“No,” he rumbled.

Bulma lifted her hand away, and rolled over. She closed her eyes, and tried to ignore how the mattress tilted in his direction, and the warmth radiating from his closeness.

The bed moved, and Bulma held her breath. She dared to scoot back an inch, and she met his hard chest. A warm hand slipped around her waist, and she felt his sigh through the bed, sweat forming on her neck.

“Is this alright?” His voice came out hoarse, unsure as his grasp.

She took his hand, pulling it up around her more, so that his palm lay flat over her heart. He leaned into her, and his nose pressed into the part of her hair.

“You don’t have to ask,” she said, squeezing his hand. He kissed her hair, and tightened his embrace in response, going from comfortable warm blanket to full on furnace; but she didn’t mind. Bulma relaxed, not wanting to move and end whatever dream was happening, but she pressed her leg between his, encouraging him to hook a knee over hers and after a long moment, he took the hint.

Bulma heard him gulp, clearing his throat, the words welling. “I have visions of my death,” he confessed. “I feel the blast through my chest, I wake up, and it feels like it’s still there. I can see it.”

She thread her fingers between his, feeling fresh cuts and old scars across his skin, and held it close. She didn’t expect it to be as relieving to hear him say it as it was. The muscles in his arm tightened, and he spoke again. “It doesn’t end when I wake.”

“It seems like it’s calmed down a bit,” she said, quietly.

Vegeta moved, and buried his face into the base of her neck. “It has,” he mumbled, warmly. His arm pushed up under the pillow between them, and Bulma flushed. “It’s… lessened.”

“What’s helped?”

He moved a little closer, his chest following along curve of her spine. He spoke into her shoulder, voice muffled. “Company.”

She snorted, and choked back a smile. “I’ll remind you that I was right tomorrow,” she said.

“Wretched woman,” he growled, but he hugged her tightly, and she thought she heard a smile to his words.

The rain continued, water gurgling down the gutters. The rain had chased away the last of the heat of the day, the clouds rolling in from the sea late in the evening. Vegeta’s tail flicked under the sheets, slipping around her ankle, his breathing falling in line with hers. Bulma smiled, rubbing her cheek against the pillow.

“You can sleep here whenever you want,” Bulma offered, quietly. Outside, distant thunder rumbled. “I don’t mind.”

His tail slid up her leg, and she didn’t know if he realised. “I don’t want it to become a habit.”

She smirked. “Mm, not all habits are bad.”


	10. DAY 135

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma now banned from uber eats

The soldering iron caught the edge of her arm, and Bulma chucked it away with a curse. It clattered across the bench top, the heated tip landing between the cords. She flicked the unit off, and pulled the iron free, melted plastic clinging to the tip in long, sizzling strings. Bulma cursed again, and slammed her safety glasses down.

Computer towers hummed in the gloom, monitors glowing. The skylight above her head had long grown dark, and she rubbed her eyes with the clean part of her wrist. Reaching out, she searched for her phone, scattering pens, nuts and bolts and several post it note reminders for her to eat every few hours, before her hand grasped the familiar old case.

The screen flashed, and it was 6:45PM, with a trail of text messages and missed calls from the advisory board, the secretary at the company she had been trying to foster a deal with, and more worryingly, Yamcha.

Leaning back on the stool, she set the soldering iron down, not bothering to scrape the melted plastic from the tip. That was Tomorrow Bulma’s problem. She mentally placed it in between apologising profusely for lack of communication to the board, and having a panic attack over twenty other deadlines hurtling towards her in an inescapable avalanche.

Kicking the stool back under the workbench, she worked her way up through the bowels of Capsule Corp.’s labyrinth of laboratories and conference rooms until she emerged into the sterile reception area. She swept by her pigeon hole, stuffed full of paperwork, envelopes and phone messages, and gave a guilty grimace.

Her phone buzzed, and she hesitated. Sucking in a sharp breath, she took the plunge, and answered.

“Hey.”

“Hey, B! It’s Yamcha! S-sorry to ring you, I know you’re really busy with everything,” Yamcha hazarded on the other end. She could hear the redness in his voice.

Bulma slipped out the front door of Capsule Corp., into the darkening evening, the last of the sun’s rays still clinging to the highest buildings in West City. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you sooner. Just have a lot going on.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet!” Yamcha confirmed. “I was just ringing to see how you were.”

Bulma’s hand paused above the door handle to the Briefs’ family compound. She sniffed, and peered at the burn on her arm. It’d already grown into an angry red welt. She should have put ice on it the moment she got it—or worn long sleeves in the first place like she was always berating her dad for not doing.

“I’m fine,” she said, shouldering open the door, and tossing her keys and key card into a bowl by the entrance. “Like I said, I just have a lot going on at the moment.”

“L-like what?”

“I have to get some prototypes off to be checked out by the advisory board, I’ve got to negotiate some kind of deal where we aren’t being scalped with a major overseas manufacturer and on top of all that I’m expected to give a conference on the applications of artificial gravity in the next few days and I don’t have anything planned, so I’ll have to write up something for that,” Bulma sighed, listing them off on her fingers. She climbed the stairs to the second floor landing, waiting for Yamcha to either admit he didn’t know what half of that meant, or to say something unrelated.

“I’ve got a big baseball game coming up, but I’m not too nervous.”

_ There we go. _

“Sounds like you,” Bulma said. “I’m sure you’ll do good.”

“I was wondering if you’d like to come along? The others are all going to be there! It’ll be fun.”

_ No. _

“Oh, Yamcha, that sounds great!” She lied. “I just don’t know if I’ll have time, but I’d love to go—I’d have to see what my schedule is, when is it?”

She didn’t bother to write down or remember when it was taking place. She stalked down the hall towards her room, listening to Yamcha telling her who was going to be there, and who he’d be playing against. She noted he mentioned a few more girls names than normal, but she didn’t bother commenting on it. They weren’t together, so it didn’t matter anymore.

“That all sounds very cool,” she lied, again, approaching her door. She turned the knob, and with a groan, it came clean off. “Ugh! Fucking  _ hell! _ ”

“Are you ok?”

“ _ Yes!  _ Yes,” Bulma growled. She dropped to her knees to inspect the damage. “Yamcha, I have to go, I’m sorry—the stupid piece of junk door handle of mine just broke. I’ll see if I can go to your game.”

“O-oh! Ok, well, it’d be good if you could! I-I miss you… like a lot,” he stammered.

Bulma grabbed the fallen screws from the carpet, jamming the phone against her ear with her shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

“I-I’ll see you around, then! Bye!”

“Bye.”

The dial tone sounded, and Bulma let her phone flop onto the carpet, and allowed herself a long, drawn out moan. Setting the door knob in place, she thread the screws through, tightening them with just her hands. Stupid janky thing, it’d been loose for days and she’d ignored it. She couldn’t be bothered going back to get her screwdriver from the lab, she’d just come from there—her fingers fumbled, the screws slipping, and she caught the handle before it fell again.

“Ugh!  _ Fuck! _ I don’t need this!”

“What are you screaming about now?”

Bulma jumped, and fell back. Standing over her, draped in shadow, Vegeta looked more like an alien than ever before with his tail held high behind him, and his ragged black mane pointed at the ceiling. She glared, scrambling to her feet, but she got up too fast and went light headed. She nodded to where the door knob should be, brain cloudy. “This is the last straw.”

Vegeta gave her the kind of look a big cat might offer before they tore open a baby gazelle.

“It’s part of a bigger phrase. ‘The straw that broke the camel’s back’,” Bulma explained, but Vegeta’s face remained impassive. She rolled her eyes, kicking open her door. “Whatever. I don’t need shit from you.”

“I wouldn’t give it to you if your inventions were up to par.”

With a shriek, Bulma threw the knob down onto her bed with such force it bounced off and struck the wall.

“I’ve  _ had it! _ ” She barked, rounding on him. Vegeta backed up an inch, caught off guard, but he doubled down with his foul looking glare.

“Not tonight! I am not putting up with you tonight! I’ve had a bad day, I’m in a foul mood, and if you even so much as attempt to try and blame the Gravity Room malfunctioning because of your reckless use on me  _ I will shove my fist so far up your ass I’ll turn you into a puppet! _ ”

She kicked off her shoes, and ripped the hairband from her hair, pulling strands out with it and bit down a frustrated scream. Her eyes pricked, and she wiped them on her arm with a sniff, waiting for the tantrum, or the explosion, or the very real threat from a well known spoiled Prince.

Something hot brushed her arm, and she jumped again. Vegeta slunk into view beside her, lifting his hand away. Bulma glanced down at the spot he’d touched.

“Don’t try to act all cute and concerned with me,” she warned. She covered the burn with her hand, biting the inside of her cheek to mask the pain. “It’s fine.”

His face twisted at the mention of ‘cute’ and he growled, but said, “I find it remarkable that someone capable of building space faring technology single handedly can be such a fool sometimes.” The door closed behind him, and he removed his tail from the hole where the doorknob had been. “Don’t touch it.”

“It’s my burn, I’ll do what I want.”

“And you’re a stubborn fool.” He ducked into her ensuite, and Bulma stilled. She leaned across, bobbing her head when she heard the tap run. He appeared a moment later, cold wash cloth in hand. “I don’t care about whatever has turned you into an emotional wreck at the moment, but I don’t need to hear it from the otherside of the planet.”

“Ok, you’re saying that to get on my nerves but I’m taking the high road, Vegeta, I’m not lowering myself to your level,” she said, firmly, but her eyes welled again. “You stupid little geek.”

“You couldn’t be on my level even if you tried, woman. Your race can only dream of the type of power and strength that I possess.”

He tossed her the damp cloth, and she caught it with a sour look. She dabbed it lightly across her burn, before holding it in place with one hand. The relief was instant, but she’d never tell him that.

The floorboards creaked behind her, and warm breath rasped across her neck. He smelled of sweat, and some lingering mens deodorant, and she realised it was the brand Yamcha used, but she found it didn’t make her gag when it was Vegeta. His crown pressed to the back of her head, and his hand ran along the outside of her arm in a tentative movement.

She smiled; it couldn’t be helped.

“You might be a feral little jerk but you  _ are _ very sweet,” she sighed, resting her weight against his. She heard him huff, and felt it across her scalp.

“I’ve warned you about that sort of nonsense,” he grumbled. “Keep it to yourself.”

Bulma slipped from his hand, just for a moment, to turn to face him and lean against his offered chest. His hands found hers, and he straightened himself with a smirk.

“I don’t listen to warnings,” she mumbled, looking down at his tracksuit pants, his tail flicking in her peripheral. “You know that.”

His hands twitched in hers, and she knew what he wanted to do, so she closed her eyes and left herself open. A moment later, his hands settled against her back, hot and heavy, and she resisted a low, contented sigh. He  _ was _ sweet, he just didn’t like it being pointed out.

“I’m sorry about this,” Bulma sniffed, leaning back and gesturing to her blotchy face. “You know me, ever the drama queen, I cry over anything!”

Vegeta’s jaw set, mulling over his response before saying, “I won’t lie, but I do prefer your tirades to this pitiful display.”

She bit back a laugh. She knew what he was trying to say.  _ I don’t like seeing you like this _ .

“You’re finished early. Don’t you still have training to do?” She found herself asking.

Vegeta’s scowl returned to her face, and his mouth hardened. “Obviously,” he scoffed. “But I have been known to take breaks in between sessions—besides, who knows what damage you could in this state? It’d be wiser for me to at least make sure you don’t decide to decommission something necessary.”

Bulma blinked, taken aback. He regarded her from under a stormy brow, and she felt him analysing the minutiae of her face like her stance before a strike—

“Thanks,” she croaked. Her mouth went desert dry, and her cheeks grew hot.

“I haven’t done anything but if this is finally thanks for saving your species from certain destruction then I accept,” Vegeta declared with a wave of his hand, but she caught the smile tugging at his mouth before it vanished again. He brushed past her, his tail caught her elbow, encouraging her to follow him.

He slumped onto the mattress, the bed springs groaning, and wiped his face with the towel around his neck. Bulma slid onto the edge of the bed next to him, knees together, and his tail whispered against the inside of her wrist.

“You should put those other trivial projects of yours aside if your mettle is that weak. The Gravity Room still needs maintenance, and neither of us can afford you having a breakdown over something so inane.”

“Those ‘trivial’ projects are the main source of income for Capsule Corp., thank you very much. They’re very important—!”

“More important than your sanity?” Vegeta asked, suddenly sharp.

Bulma slammed her mouth shut. “I’ll be fine!”

Vegeta’s tail curled around her hand. She glanced down, brow furrowed. The tip of his tail flicked, but he seemed unaware, bent over double and undoing his shoelaces, scowling like they’d committed some personal sins against him.

Bulma tilted her hand carefully, and his tail inadvertently slipped between her fingers—Vegeta sat up, back straight.

“Sorry,” Bulma mumbled.

“Hmph.” He lifted his tail away, but he didn’t seem angry. “Well, woman, I’m not going to baby you and coddle you like an infant. If you wanted someone to follow you like a parasite then you should have kept the weakling around.”

Bulma nodded, only half taking it in. It made him feel better to pretend he was apart from it, but his warmth radiated off his bare shoulders, and the edge of the mattress tilted towards him, and she knew his words had little depth.

“I don’t expect you to do that,” Bulma replied, helpfully.

He leaned towards her, whether consciously or unconsciously, she didn’t know, and his shoulder grazed hers. They sat together, facing the window, the grounds glowing green and gold in the late summer evening.

“Are you hungry?” Bulma asked. He gave her a look, and Bulma laughed. “Yeah, ok, it’s just polite to ask.”

“I am, but you aren’t going to solve that,” he said.

“I could.”

He turned to her, narrow eyed, and her smile grew. She jumped off the bed, crossing the room and picking up her laptop off the desk, opening the lid. She saw Vegeta move his head out of the corner of her eye, like he always did when trying to see what she was doing, and she plopped back down beside him. She tilted the screen for him to see. “What do you feel like?”

“Food.”

Bulma rolled her eyes, scrolling through the delivery site. “Ok, we have Japanese, BBQ, Thai, pizza—oh, I didn’t know the pastizzi place delivered, that’s fun—!”

“What are you doing?”

Bulma hunched over the laptop, squinting at the screen as she dragged her finger down the track pad. “Ordering delivery. I’m starving, I don’t want to cook, and I don’t want to bother mum, and I want to hang out with you and the best way for me to do that is to bribe you with food.”

“And you would be so stupid as to admit that outloud? Insolence,” he growled, but he leaned across to eye the screen.

Bulma grinned, and turned back to the selection. “Ok, let’s see…”

She scrolled through different menus, and when it became obvious Vegeta didn’t understand what the ingredients were, she did her best to explain what each one was, including image searching and showing him dozens of pictures of what exactly a “dumpling” was. Some of it he recognised from the mini themed feasts Bunny prepared him, and some, it seemed, was similar to what he had while in space. There were only so many ways that meat could be cooked, Bulma mused, and if Saiyans were so similar to humans in other ways it would stand to reason that they developed similar cuisine.

“...Ok, so that’s a pork burrito bowl, a beef burrito bowl, the three soft tacos and the cheese fries for me—”

“Add another.”

“Oh,  _ now _ you want some? You can just have part of mine,” Bulma said.

He gave her another steely look that allowed no arguments, and she sighed, and added another lot of cheese fries. It was for the best anyway; there was no such thing as ‘sharing’ a meal when it came to Vegeta unless the meal was the size of a bathtub and in that case he might generously offer you part of the corner under the tap. Bulma clicked the order button, typing in her details.

“When will this arrive?”

Bulma reached for her phone, and glanced at the screen. “The Chinese it’s on it’s way now, along with… the fried chicken place—which I think might be too oily and processed for you but you might as well—and the falafel is like, five minutes away!”

“Good.”

Bulma settled back against the pillows, pushing her shoulder up against his. She opened her mouth to ask if he thought that would be enough food for him, but stopped short. There’d never be a ‘yes’ to that question, even if she bought out half the restaurants in town. After he’d demolished the first four courses she’d check in again, and order more.

“Are you still upset?” He asked, suddenly.

Bulma gulped, shaking her head. “Not really. You’re a good distraction, even if you’re a jackass.”

His tail flicked beside him, his arms neatly crossed. “I suppose that is preferable to your hysterical carrying on.”

_ I’m glad you’re feeling better. _

Her smirk grew, and she glanced at her phone again. A text message glowed from the first delivery driver. She smacked his knee. “Ok, let’s go get some plates, big boy!”

He followed her down the stairs sedately, shadowing her. He watched her dump the two bulging paper bags onto the kitchen bench, and start rifling through them. She stuffed a plate into his waiting hands, and an optimistic selection of cutlery as well. He stayed silent, frowning, but she stifled a laugh at how his gaze followed wherever the paper bags went, like a starving dog.

She kicked her bedroom door open, sidling inside and dumping the first lot of delivery bags onto her bed. She jumped onto the mattress, piling the pillows high behind her back, and pulled the bags closer. Vegeta hovered at the edge of the bed, plates and styrofoam containers piled precariously into the crook of his arm.

“Are you eating in bed?” He asked, with a curl of his lip.

“Yeah, what of it?” Bulma replied, setting a plate on her lap, and reaching for the nearest bag. “Come on! Sit down! I want to watch something!”

Vegeta hesitated, but followed her lead, clambouring carefully onto the bed beside her.

As always, he ate like his throat was directly connected to the black hole located in his stomach, piling the food high on his plate in unusual combinations of whatever was closest to him, and demolishing it in an instant. Bulma scrolled absentmindedly through the tv selection on the screen, swallowing her mouthful of dim-sim before she tapped the trackpad, and selected something trashy. The sun sunk behind the rolling hills outside West City, broad strokes of orange and purple painted by some haphazard God’s hand across the sky.

Vegeta went to down a container of sweet chili sauce like a shot, and she snatched his wrist. She loaded up one of her dim-sim’s with sauce, and shoved it up under his nose. He glanced at her face, and snatched the roll from her fingers with bared teeth, and laughed when she recoiled.

“God! It’s like feeding a fucking crocodile!”

He smirked, chuckling under his breath, and wiped the corner of his mouth. “You should be careful. Saiyans are known it eat anything.”

“So I’ve seen.”

Bulma balanced the laptop on her knee as she leaned across him, and speared a pork dumpling on his plate with a chopstick. She popped it into her mouth with a sweet smile, and Vegeta gave a threatening growl.

Bunny knocked on the door every few minutes, with paper bags in hand and her ever present smile. “My, aren’t you two enjoying yourselves!” She announced, each time, placing the bags neatly across Bulma’s study desk, until every available space was filled.

Every time a full bag was brought in, Vegeta emptied another, until picked clean containers littered the floor in a plastic graveyard. 

The line of delivery bags slowed, and the sun well and truly set, with West City glowing in the distance behind the palms of Capsule Corp. Bulma dumped the laptop onto the duvet, and set her plate aside on the bedside table as the next episode of Desperate Housewives started. Bulma pulled her knees up to her chest, and while Vegeta wolfed down another burrito, she curled into his side, her hand settling on his tummy.

When was the last time she’d done this with someone? Vegeta ignored her touch, busy with a new container of food that demanded his immediate attention and she wondered if he’d mind her doing this. Although, she reminded herself, if he really didn’t like her touching him, he would have shook her off and kept eating—just like the rest of their interactions.

“Who are these harpies, exactly?” Vegeta huffed, tearing a drumstick apart between his teeth.

“They’re all married to famous athletes,” Bulma explained, warmly. She moved her hand in circles across his shirt, and she thought she saw his tail give the slightest, happy shudder. “They just have a lot of money and scream a lot.”

“Ah, so you find it relatable.”

She hit him in the gut, hoping to make him cough, but he just grinned, finishing his meal.

“It’s completely trite, but I love it. It’s just fun to watch when I don’t want to think about anything, and when I want a good laugh.”

“So they’re court jesters,” he said.

“They are  _ not _ —! It’s not the same!”

“It’s a bunch of fools acting out for the amusement of others. They might as well be,” Vegeta observed. “I’ve seen it plenty of times in Frieza's army.”

Bulma’s hand paused, and she looked up at him. She watched for something uncomfortable to cross his face, but he looked relaxed; for a moment, the name held no power over him. He dumped a cooked bone back into the container as he reached for another drumstick.

She brushed her hand across his stomach again, and decided to push her luck. “Do you like it here?” She asked. “I mean, I just hope it’s better then what you had.”

Vegeta shrugged. “The food is better,” he conceded. “But I did not have to deal with shrill vulgar creatures with no respect for bloodline or heritage such as yourself.”

“You love it. Otherwise you would have blown it up by now.”

“Your planet is useful,” he said, sucking the meat off the last chicken bone. “As is your genius.”

Bulma raised her brows, before laughing. “So you  _ do _ like it! I knew there was a big softie under all that muscle and your two whole brain cells.”

“Watch it, I’ve kept you alive because you are still useful to me, but I can change my mind,” he growled, but there was something playful in his tone.

“Food really does put you in a good mood, maybe Mum was onto something.”

“ _ Woman _ .”

She turned her head, and kissed his shoulder, earning a low hum of approval. Finally, he finished, and leaned back against the pillows, folding his arms up behind his head. He sunk lower, crossing his legs, and the smile that crept across his features could have melted glaciers. When he wasn’t frowning, or glowering, or glaring, he had a young face, and the longer she sat with him, the more handsome he became.

“Happy?” She asked.

“Mm.” His tail flicked out beside him, the end curling in a way that told her she was right. She moved, her arm reaching across him more as he said, “as much as I could be stranded on this desolate rock.”

The sound of the laptop faded; on screen, flashes of women dressed in white and gold argued back and forth in between jump cuts and interviews. Ear to his chest, Bulma listened to the air fill his lungs in slow and steady waves, and unconsciously, her breath fell in line with his. She tried explaining whatever tenuous storyline was going on in the show at first, yawning, and mumbling into his shirt, but Vegeta was only interested when a chair got thrown.

“Your species is about as boorish as they come,” he said, at one point, but his cheek had settled against her crown between the last two episodes. “But at least you’re marginally entertaining.”

Bulma blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the room had grown quiet, and her body weighed a tonne. With heavy eyes, she glanced over at the laptop. ARE YOU STILL WATCHING? CONTINUE? The screen prompted.

She glanced up at Vegeta. His eyes had closed, and his breathing slowed with slumber. Even in his sleep he scowled. She moved, kicking her foot out experimentally and connecting with one of a dozen crumpled paper takeaway bags. She turned her head, squinting; empty containers, used plates and bowls lay stacked haphazardly across her desk, the dresser, and floor.

Bulma went to sit up, but a heavy weight across her back pinned her to his breast. His arm had settled around her, his broad hand resting posessively on the bulge of her hip.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice hoarse. His jaw twitched. Working her hand out from between them, she clicked her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, buddy, wakey wakey!”

His fingers dug into her and a lazy purr escaped him. She rubbed her cheek against the folds of his shirt, and his grip tightened again.

“Will you never let me rest, woman?” He murmured, eyes still closed. He rumbled again, shifting, stretching his back as much as their position would allow. He lifted his hand up from her hip, and placed it gently into her hair. “Your show has ended.”

Bulma blinked hard, frowning. Her eyes fell across the laptop again. “Yeah. We’ve been conked out for a while,” she said, breathing deeply; his shirt smelled good. She moved, hooking her knee over his steely thigh and settling again. “I want to stay here.”

“You always want something,” Vegeta sighed, but his fingers traced the line of her part with unusual care. “Demanding wench.”

“Fancy the pot calling the kettle black.”

He opened one eye, and frowned.

“It means you’re being a hypocrite.” She hugged him tighter, and his mouth twitched with a ghostly smile.

“Well, you’d know all about that.”

His hands roved her body, big and scarred but almost fashioned for the shape of her hips. She’s worried that after a while, his sweetness would fade once he’d realised that he could have her whenever he wanted but even if his touch became more confident, and his mouth more forthright, he kept being sweet.

He set her on his lap, breathing deep, kissing her under her jaw, and it almost made her laugh to think how he hurled all manner of insults and tantrums her way with that same warm mouth. Bulma straightened in his hands, her knees either side of his hips. 

“Do you like me?” Her hand flew to her mouth. Those words came from her throat, for sure, but it didn’t sound like her voice at all.

He frowned. “What kind of stupid question is that?”

She snorted, and broke off into a laugh, wiping her eyes.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing! That’s just—that’s just exactly what you  _ would _ say! You think it’s a stupid question because the answer is obvious.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?” He asked, but he kept kissing her, his chin bumping against her. He kissed her throat, his hand trailing up her neck, following her hairline.

“Nothing! And just for the record I never spout ‘nonsense’, you jerk—!”

He cut off her protest with a clumsy peck against her mouth, pulling lightly at her lip with a grin she knew was only partially cock-sure.

“—I like knowing what you think, and  _ how _ you think! I like knowing what’s going on in that thick skull of yours!”

He leaned back, pulling her down with him, and he freed his hand from her hip, allowing it to move to her back and below her shoulder. “It wouldn’t interest you in the slightest,” he scoffed, his tongue finding her earring. “And I’m not interested in telling you.”

Bulma pulled back hard, glaring. “ _ Excuse me? _ ”

“I am not interested in telling you, why do I have to repeat myself—?”

“Why don’t you want to tell me?” Bulma asked. He went to kiss her again, and she dodged him, her glare hardening. “What, you don’t trust me? You think I’m going to go tell everyone whatever the hell it is you cook up between training sessions?”

“I didn’t say that—!” He growled, shoulders squaring.

“Then what’s your problem?”

He sucked in a breath between his teeth, and fixed her with a spiteful look. “In three years we might not be here, so there is no point to me telling you anything.”

The clock glowed on the nightstand, and somewhere outside an owl called. Bulma settled back, and lowered her gaze. She’d forgotten about that.

“If it doesn’t matter, there’s nothing wrong with telling me,” she said, after a while.

Vegeta worked his jaw, expression unyielding. “I don’t dislike you.”

She grinned, and covered her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“What  _ now _ ?”

She shook her head, waving her laughter away, and wiped her face. A lump formed in her throat. “It’s nothing! I just—I know you do, buddy.”

“Then why ask?” He pressed, folding his arms across his chest. She tried not to laugh again.

“I don’t know. I just like to know you like having me around.”

He scoffed, looking away, and Bulma slid off his thigh, settling into the bed beside him. She dared to lean her cheek against his shoulder, and wasn’t immediately shaken off. “If it’s your opinion that nothing matters because in three years nothing might exist, can I make a another suggestion?”

Vegeta tilted his chin in her direction ever so slightly.

“If I like you, and you like me,” she started, kicking off a few paper bags with her feet. “Do you want to have sex?”

“ _ What?! _ ”

“Like, not right now obviously, but eventually.”

He went crimson, entire face burning brighter than a dying star, his eyes bigger than she’d ever seen them. “ _ Are you out of your mind?! _ ”

“No, why?”

The wall sockets sparked, and the digital clock exploded with a puff of black smoke. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and she felt her fringe rising up with the static. “Th-that’s obscene! Have you no idea who I am?  _ What _ I am? I always knew you were a shameless but I genuinely didn’t think you could be so _ stupid! _ ”

“ _ Stupid?  _ Why? I’m not understanding the issue here! I want to have sex with you because I  _ know _ who you are, that’s the whole point!”

Vegeta shot to his feet, and the ki glowed under his skin, along his veins in burning trails of light. His tail rose out behind him, thick as a brush, his hands clamped into fists as if he expected her to launch herself at him there and then.

“You don’t know anything about me, woman!” He snarled, teeth bared.  “I can put up with your disrespect, your laziness, and your poor attitude! I can tolerate your foolish, childish recklessness, but I am not going to put up with  _ this _ .”

Bulma blinked, sitting up and pushing her fringe out of her face. “What are you talking about? Vegeta, it’s ok! I’m not—I’m not trying to make fun of you or looking to hurt you!” She said, holding her hands up in surrender.

“Hurt me?” He barked, the words laced with sizzling power. “You couldn’t lay a scratch on me, let alone do any real damage! I am not concerned with anything that miniscule!”

If he had said that to her months ago, she would have called him a pig, but weeks and months of listening to him, and reading between the lines told her that every word was carefully picked and served a purpose, and right now, he was desperately carving a wedge.

“Ok! Ok, I can see what you’re saying,” Bulma said, working her way around the bed, keeping her eyes on him.

“Oh, really? Do you now? What am I saying then, if you’re such an  _ expert _ ?” He snarled, working the bile into every syllable, intending to hurt and maim.

He backed up when she reached him, his shoulders squared, ready to throw her aside like any opponent, and she saw the briefest flash of fear. He couldn’t solve this problem with his fists.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

“Hey,” she cooed. She reached out, the ki so thick it shimmered in the air. “Everything is alright.”

“Shut the hell up! Where do you get off on speaking to me like I’m a cornered beast?”

Her hand touched his elbow, and he visibly buckled.

“You’re trying to push me away because you’re scared you’ll mess up,” she said, gently.

“Shut  _ up! _ I don’t have to listen to this!” He made to cut around her, and storm off, but she blocked his path, and he faltered again.

“If you bottle things up and ignore them it only makes them worse!”

He gulped, and paled.

“Vegeta, you either avoid whatever it is that makes you uncomfortable or you tackle it head on with such ferocity you hope you just destroy it so you never have to deal with it again but neither of those things work!” She moved closer. “I shouldn’t have been so forward maybe, but it was always going to come up because I do really like you!”

“B-Bulma,” he growled, voice strained.

“You had the same reaction on Namek when we first kissed, you had the same reaction when I said I liked you here, and you’re having the same reaction now! You’ll be ok, I promise! Whatever happens, you’ll be ok!”

She hugged him, as tight as she could, her arms around his neck. He wobbled in her grasp, but his muscles hardened, tensing to the point of shattering, his arms welded to his chest. The ki crawled down her spine; she felt it squeeze between her bones and cartilage, arcing directly towards her chest, but it refused to burn.

He shuddered in her grasp, and she stroked his back, eyes closed.

After a long time, his heart stopped pounding like it was trying to break his ribs, and his breathing became more regular. She turned her head, cheek to his shoulder, her hand wandering across his frame.

“Let me go,” he wheezed, finally, voice brittle.

She released him, hands sliding down his arms, until they came to rest at her sides. She smiled at him, nervous. “Are you going to be alright?”

His glare caught her off guard, and she stumbled back. “I’m fine.”

He side stepped around her, his shoulder brushing hers, and headed for the door. The tip of his tail caught her hand, and he slipped from the room in shadow.

Bulma touched her fingers; the ghost of his touch still lingering.

“Now I’ve fuckin’ done it,” she grunted, before slumping on the bed.

He needed space, she assured herself. He just needed space, to think and to rewire those parts of his brain that had been manufactured by Frieza’s hand, and, to a lesser extent, his own culture’s hand.

She rubbed the spot where his tail had grazed her hand until she could no longer feel it.


	11. DAY 201

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [slaps vegeta] this thing can fit so much unresolved personal issues into it

He’d avoided her, which had been difficult, because she had been trying to avoid him too, and they would wind up in the same places in the hope that the other might miss them—so he’d settled for training longer hours, and sleeping less.

In the hellish glow of the Gravity Room, the sweat ran off him in sheets, soaking his clothes, and making his hair stiff. His lungs ached, forcing too much air, too fast, for too long and burning with every minute, but he adjusted his stance, and started from the top.

The drone of the Gravity Room’s engines and cores filled his brain, his ears ringing, and drowned out everything that existed outside the steel plated, reinforced walls. He cleared a battered, broken bot in one leap, the artificial gravity clawing at his body. He’d left them where they’d fallen, not willing to speak to the woman, even if it was just to yell orders.

Ki raced along his veins, weaving between muscle and marrow and swelling in his hand as he brought it down in a searing wall of white—the Gravity Room groaned, and he pulled back a little. There was no sense in going all out and destroying the thing right now, it’d only earn him two weeks of solitary confinement to his room or self imposed banishment to the desert.

He landed poorly, and his knee gave way. Doubled over, chest burning, he tried to straighten himself, but his legs refused to obey, and he slumped onto the stainless steel floor. The ki dissipated in a glowing haze, and the gravity stopped him taking in full breaths, squeezing on his lungs.

The engine thrummed up through the floor, the red safety lights glowing overhead, and he slammed his fist on the floor with a snarl. His fist buried into the panel, and it came loose. He groaned again, hauling himself over to the control panel. The cores went silent, and the gravity lifted.

Vegeta kicked the damaged panel experimentally with the end of his boot, tilting his head. That would need to be replaced, whether he liked it or not—he might be able to recruit the woman’s father for such trivial repairs. He slammed the heavy, reinforced door behind him, trotting down the stairs and starting across the grass.

He glanced up at the sliver of the moon overhead, and something rippled down his spine to the tip of his tail. At some point during his time off planet, the Earth’s moon had been restored, and he had kept careful track of it. He’d never been on Planet Vegeta’s surface during one of it’s full moons, but even as a child he’d learned to be aware of it’s cycle, however—he flicked his tail as he approached the sliding glass doors—it seemed he didn’t need to track it anymore.

He closed the glass doors behind him, and wiped his boots on the doormat automatically.

“Oh, Vegeta, sweetie! My, you’re turning in late.”

He jumped, poised, before he spied the mass of curly blond hair belonging to the woman’s insipid mother. She sat perched on a stool in the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand, fingering the pages of a book. He tilted his head a fraction to see the title, and went red in the face. Vulgarity really did run in the woman’s wretched blood.

“Hm,” he managed, making a start for the stairs but Bunny looked up from her book.

“We had roast lamb for dinner tonight,” she announced, airly. “I made two, since I know how much you like to eat.”

“I’m fine—!” His stomach rumbled, and Bunny’s eyes twinkled. She closed the book, and set it aside, face down.

“Well, let’s just fix you something to eat then, young man! After all, you work so hard, you have to keep your strength up!” She sang, pulling a whole baking tray covered in foil from the fridge, and closing the door again with her hip.

Vegeta hovered by the staircase, willing his boots to just carry him to the top of the stairs but he heard Bunny unwrapping the tinfoil, his ears pricking, and he couldn’t stop himself from turning around. He marched back over to the kitchen island, and sat as far away from her debased book as possible, though it was an effort not to at least glance at what the writing on the back said—

“You’re always up so late!” Bunny tutted. “It’s not good for you! You don’t want to ruin that handsome face of yours by exhausting yourself and getting wrinkles early.”

“I’m not—!” He bit back his retort, and growled. Bunny was on par with Bulma in terms of challenge but for different reasons; Bulma was always clever and hot headed, and her reactions predictable to the point of being fun, but Bunny didn’t seem to know what was going on half the time and everything she said was so honest and so stupid Vegeta struggled to control his anger.

Drumming his fingers on the bench top, he focused, and extended a thin tendril of awareness out along the winding halls of Capsule Cop. taking stock of those few ki signatures still wandering around. He could sense the Doctor, walled up in his lab, and the faint, rapid pulse of the cat creature that was always clinging to him, and he could sense Bunny, clouding his mind as she wafted from one end of the kitchen to the other, turning the oven on and sticking the cold, cooked roast inside.

“Bulma’s out,” Bunny said, suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. “She doesn’t like being cooped up all day in the lab! She’s always been a wild child at heart!”

“So?”

“Just if you were curious or looking for her!” Bunny replied with a smile, closing the oven door. “She’s such a hard worker; it’s no wonder you two get along so well.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Silly me, I let my words get away from me again!” Bunny giggled, sipping her wine. “I’ve already had a few too many glasses!”

“That shrew of a daughter of yours and I do not  _ get along _ ,” he snarled, jaw clenched, but the memory of arms around his neck, and stroking his face rose unbidden in his mind. “I don’t have to listen to this drivel!”

Bunny made a show of setting the timer on the oven. “This will take no time at all to heat up! You should join us for dinner some time, I’m sure you’d like it! Oh, it’d be so much fun! Just one big happy family!”

He bridled again. “Fun? I’d rather put up with Kakarot’s brain dead conversation in person than sit through a meal with  _ you lot _ .”

“Oh, would you?” Bunny cried, clapping her hands together. “Oh, that’s so wonderful Vegeta! You know, I always thought you and him really got off on the wrong foot, but if that’s how you feel, we can always arrange to have the Son family over for dinner! That would be just delightful—!”

“ _ No! _ ” The glass doors shuddered, and he lowered his voice with great effort. “No. I’m not doing that.”

Bunny didn’t seem to register that he spoke, gliding back over to the fridge and opening it, reaching for a cardboard cask inside the door. She filled her glass again to the top, humming under her breath like Bulma always did, but it was not a tune he recognised, or liked.

“Where did she go?” He asked, despite himself. Not being constantly aware of her presence was starting to grate, and create some unpleasant, foreign feeling his gut.

Bunny waved her hand, red nails flashing. “Out! Out,” she said, taking a swig, and draining half the glass already. “She called up some old friends of hers, I think! I’m sure she’s out there tearing up the dance floor and having a good time. Bulma’s my daughter, after all—!”

“Old friends?”

Bunny blinked, and threw back her head with a charming laugh. “Oh! Of course, dear! She used to know some people from university, though I don’t know how much she’s kept in touch with them.” She sighed, swirling the contents of her glass. “It’s a shame, really! She used to go out a lot with Yamcha when they were together, but they grew apart. Since they broke up she’s been locked up in her lab and at home most of the time. It’s so sad, he was such a lovely boy, and so handsome too!”

“Tch.”

His scalp itched, and he felt Bunny’s hard stare across the side of his face, studying him while she ran a finger over the lip of her wine glass. “Can I give you some advice, Vegeta, dear?”

He found himself turning to face her before he could stop himself. She caught him in that demure, knowing smile and he realised he’d bumbled into some sort of trap.

“When I met my husband, I didn’t think we had anything in common. He was so smart, and so intimidating, and I was, well… you know,” she winked, and Vegeta stiffened. “But, I realised, very early on, that we had much more in common than either of us realised, and I had met my match—and he’d met his. There was no point in pretending anything different!”

“ _ Speak plainly _ .”

Distantly, the front door opened, and someone tossed their keys into the bowel in the foyer. Vegeta started, almost toppling from the stool when her tiny ki smacked him across the face.

“Bulma! You’re home! Did you have a good night, sweetie?” Bunny called, leaning across the counter.

Bulma swung into the kitchen, barefoot and carrying her shoes in one hand, bouncing. “Hm? Hey, mum! Yeah! Yeah, look it was good,” she said, walking into her mother’s outstretched arms and exchanging a small embrace before she looked up, and saw him. “Oh, my God, wow—! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Although Vegeta knew, logically, that the chances of some insignificant planet like Earth being destroyed by a wayward asteroid or underpaid galactic mercenary was rather low, he would have done anything for it to simply blow up in the next three seconds if it meant he could avoid this conversation forever.

“Vegeta and I were just having a chat while I got him something to eat,” Bunny explained, picking up her wine glass again and finishing it off.

Bulma raised her eyebrows mockingly high before laughing. “Wow, really?”

“No! No, we’re not!” He tried to bark, but it came out in a pathetic wheeze.

“Who did you meet up with?” Bunny asked, ignoring him.

Bulma turned away, and Vegeta’s shoulders almost collapsed. “Oh, uh… well, I mean, I was meant to meet up with a few school people but they, uh…” she fiddled with the bangle on her wrist, turning it around. She smelled chemical, some false floral scent lathered across her neck and chest, and his nose wrinkled at the beer on her breath. “They bailed. Last minute. I mean, they’re all pretty busy and it was late notice. It’s not like I meet up with them all the time or anything either but I still had a good time! A girl can party by herself!”

“Oh, that’s too bad, I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” Bunny crooned, reaching out and taking her hand. “You should have gone out with Vegeta! You could have shown him around town!”

“ _ Absolutely not! _ ”

“Oh,  _ Christ _ no!”

“Why not?”

The oven timer went off, and Bunny reached for a pink oven mitt above the stove.

Bulma adjusted herself, glancing in Vegeta’s direction. Her eyes seemed darker than normal, black pigment smeared across her lids. “It’s just not a good idea. Anyway, I’m  _ super _ tired! Just look at the time—ok, bye! Goodnight!”

“Oh, well, goodnight dear!” Bunny called, reaching into the oven and pulling out the baking tray.

Bulma shot by, heading straight for the stairs, and leaving a cloud of perfume in her wake. Vegeta watched her pull herself up two stairs at a time, eyes narrowed. Her ki felt normal, maybe duller around the edges but nothing concerning or unusual. That was to be expected, he supposed, drumming his fingers on the counter again; she was maybe a little inebriated but—

Someone placed a plate down in front of him, and he spun around, blinking. Bunny’s smile lengthened, and she placed a knife and fork delicately by his hand. “Order up!” She winked, and his ears burned.

He resisted immediately ripping into the roast, staying stock still while Bunny flicked the oven off, and informed him that if he was still hungry, she’d also left some containers of lasagne in the fridge that he could heat up. When she’d finished, and turned away, he almost tore the roast in two with his hands before remembering the knife and fork. She dumped her empty glass in the sink, grabbing her book from the counter and catching Vegeta’s eye again.

“You know, my Bulma is a lovely girl in a lot of ways; kind, caring, and honest.” Bunny stepped around the counter, and leaned in close to him. He leaned away, mouth full. “But she doesn’t like being ignored.”

He went to bark at her and ask what she meant by that, but she slid away with a smile, humming. She vanished up the stairs, and the kitchen plunged into silence. Vegeta stabbed at a reheated potato, and ate it whole with a contemplative scowl. He paid attention to Bulma’s ki again, milling around upstairs in her room, and a minute later, the pipes groaned with the shower turning on.

She’s fine. There was nothing to be concerned about, but he still ate the rest of his meal quickly so he could head up stairs before she finished. Before she might accidentally open the door and stand in front of him. He dumped the plate in the sink, and—although his pride wouldn’t allow him to  _ run _ for the stairs—he did walk briskly.

He closed the bedroom door softly, and his unwound a tightly curled tail. He eyed the fresh bed sheets, the faint smell of soap still lingering in the pillows when he dumped himself down on the bed, and undressed. He went to pull his shirt off over his head when the pipes gurgled again, and the shower suddenly stopped. He froze, holding half his shirt up, his tail going still. He ripped it off a little more violently than intended, and snatching up a bed shirt from the drawers without slamming it shut.

Vegeta paused again, shirt in hand. He turned his head, eyeing the door and listening. There’d been a sound, something soft and begging not to be heard, and just beyond the wood, a shrinking ki hovered. Vegeta pulled the shirt on roughly, waiting.

Finally, after a minute, someone knocked again, and he heard the woman clear her throat. “Hey! It’s… it’s just me.”

He realised he was holding his breath, and let it out quietly, cursing himself. Two actions presented themselves; he could open the door, and confront her, or he could simply pretend to not be here. She hadn’t seen him enter the room, she didn’t hear him given how deaf her race was just in general, and most certainly couldn’t sense him. It’d avoid the awkward interactions and clumsy greetings but it might make the trench they were digging between them even wider— 

“I know you’re there because I can’t hear you emptying the refrigerator,” she said.

A new approach then.

He pulled the door open a fraction, enough to see her face. “What?”

“Can I talk to you inside or do we have to have do it like this?” She asked, giving him a half smile that ached.

He opened the door for her despite himself, letting her close it behind her as put a few paces between them. She’d changed into loose clothes, her hair still wet and clinging to her skin in wads. She turned to him, and uttered a nervous laugh. “It’s not anything specific or bad, I just want to hang out for a bit.”

_ Hang out _ . She’d used that phrase before, and the look on her face told him it didn’t have the same meaning as last time. She sat down on the bed, rubbing her eyes, and Vegeta stood at attention at the foot of the bed, his hands balled into fists. She groaned, and lay back, her knees hanging over the edge of the mattress.

“Going out  _ sucks _ !” She moaned. “It’s not fun to go to a bar by yourself! It’s just awkward and everyone is so weird about it and because it’s me, I feel like everyone’s watching my every fucking  _ move _ , y’know?”

He did, partially. “Then why do it?” He found himself asking, pulling out the wooden chair under the unused study desk and taking a seat, arms folded.

“Because! I wanted to have a good time and get out of the house for a bit, but I invited some friends—ok, well, not really friends, I’m actually pretty broke in that department because half my friends live in the woods, are green, or horny and weird—anyway, get this! I messaged them and asked if they were on their way and all of them, simultaneously, had  _ something come up _ .”

Vegeta watched her hit the sheets in a weak display of anger. “Ok.”

“Ok?” She repeated, lifting her chin up to see him. “It’s not ‘ok’! They all ditched me, it’s so obvious! What are they, twelve? This isn’t school, just say you don’t want to go out beforehand so I don’t waste my time and look completely stupid!”

“Why are you telling me this?” He groused.

She grabbed the corner of a pillow and hurled it in his direction. “Because you’re one of my actual  _ friends _ and I wanted to vent about it!  _ Uuugh! _ ”

He went over her list of prerequisites of friends, and balked. He definitely wasn’t green or lived in the woods which left only two undesirable options.

She lifted her head up again. “You like me, right? Like as a person?”

“I don’t mind you, woman,” he supplied. “Or perhaps I’ve just contracted your foolishness like a rash.”

She snorted, and laughed. She pushed herself up into a seated position again, wiping her eyes. He realised, suddenly, she was teary. “That’s so sweet,” she said. “For you, obviously.”

“Shut up.”

“See? I feel better already!”

He clicked his tongue, leaning back in the chair. She flicked the hairband around her wrist, brow creased. Bulma was never one to be self conscious, in fact, she was as boastful as she was loud, and her pride despite her lack of strength had always been admirable—so why ask a question she already knew the answer to?

“Your abrasive manner probably doesn’t gain you any favours in wider society, no,” he said with a sniff.

“My  _ what _ ?”

“Your temper. All your friends are soft weaklings who bow under the slightest pressure and you’re difficult to deal with as it is.”

“Oh,  _ wow _ ! You  _ are _ piece of shit!”

“It’s your addle-brained  _ friends _ ,”—he made sure to visibly cringe at the word—“the ones who can’t handle you, who are the fools in this situation.”

She had shot to her feet, hands on her hips and her finger pointed squarely between his eyes when she paused, mouth open about to shout something. She closed it again, settling back on her heel and clearing her throat loudly. “Good. Good. Ok. Now, say sorry for being mean to me while I was emotionally vulnerable!”

“I’m not apologising!” Vegeta said, incredulously.

“Yes, you are!”

“Oh, really?! And why would I do that?”

“Because it’s what nice people who aren’t pigheaded jerks do!” She poked her tongue out of him, arms crossed contemptuously across her chest.

Vegeta gripped the chair’s arms, the wood splitting in his fingers. “Keep your tongue to yourself if you don’t want me to rip it out!”

She stepped closer, standing between his knees, glaring down at him with all the rage of a scorned fury. He could snap her, break her bones like glass and tear her to shreds in mere moments but she faced him unafraid. She fixed him with a stormy look, and thundered, “be nice to me and kiss me and I will!”

She kicked the inside of his foot, lightly for him, but probably forceful for her, and he got the gist. He spread his knees, pulling himself onto the edge of the chair, meeting her fierce gaze directly, and holding it.

“I would if you weren’t so full of venom,” he rumbled.

Her lip trembled, and she tried to hide a growing grin, and he offered a rare half smirk in return. Any annoyance slipped away, cast to the wind as ashes, and he waited for her move, like he always did.

Bulma must have felt the same because her soft, cool palm found his cheek, and she bent over double and brought her mouth to his crown. His hands grasped for her waist, bunching up her shirt.

“You jerk,” she mumbled, smoothing his hair.

He tilted his head to meet her, and one hand left her hip to brush tentatively against her neck, before he broke away, eyes hard. “No more than this,” he warned.

“Huh?”

He took hold of her free hand, and placed it carefully on his shoulder. “No more than this. You reek of alcohol.”

“I’m not  _ drunk _ ! I’m buzzed!  _ Tipsy! _ My last drink was like, two hours ago!”

“I don’t care.”

He got to his feet, and before she could petulantly slam her hands back on her hips, he pulled her into a one armed hug. That’d keep her quiet. She wriggled at first, kicking and spitting some insult between her teeth, but quickly stilled. She leaned against him, her arms loose around his middle, and relaxed. The fabric of her t-shirt pressed against him, and he realised she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Can we stop ignoring each other now?” She asked, wrapping her slim arms around his neck and shoulders, leaning bodily against his chest. “I don’t want to anymore.”

“You’re the one ignoring me, petulant woman.”

“No!  _ You’re _ ignoring  _ me _ ! I’m just trying to stay out of your way!”

“You obviously don’t do a very good job if you keep running into me!”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Fine! Just shut up!”

She kissed him, and he returned the favour greedily. His hand abandoned the softness her hip to catch her jaw and demanding more of her embrace. She conceded with an open mouth, and he found her tongue before she pulled back with another one of her childish whines.

“This isn’t fair! How come your hugs are always nice?” She whinged, rubbing her cheek across his shoulder, sinking into him. Apart from the waft of beer he’d caught before they kissed, she smelled clean, and of something else; something nicer and more comforting. She smelled of  _ her _ for a change.

He tightened his grip, his other hand remaining stoically at his side before he spoke into her hollow behind her ear, “lots of push-ups.”

Another snort, trailing off into a high pitched giggle, the sort that made his stomach flip. “Fuck  _ off! _ You dumb little twerp!”

“You nagging harpy.”

He nipped at her bottom lip and she broke away with another titter. “Wait—wait, what did you mean by ‘no more than this’?” She asked. Her arms had slipped to around his middle, her knees bent so she looked up at him, her chin on his chest. It was better not to question whatever silly thing she’d decided to do now; attaching herself to him like a manacle.

His hand unconsciously found the back of her head, pressing wet hair back against her scalp. “I meant what I said,” he replied, curtly.

She pouted, frowning. She rocked on the spot not quite looking at him as she turned it over in her brain, before letting go, and bolting upright. “Do you  _ want _ more?” she asked.

He gulped. He knew it had been coming; it was the reason he’d tried so hard to avoid her, and the reason he was struggling to sleep at night and the reason he would wake up, more often than not, uncomfortably stiff. He prepared himself, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea,” he said.

Her eyes widened, and he saw they were red at the edges. She reached out to touch him, stroke his arm, maybe, but missed and flailed staring up at him and beaming. She went to speak, and swallowed her words, and tried again with the same result. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying this because I asked, are you?”

“I don’t do anything that you  _ ask _ , woman. Princes do what they want, and make their own decisions.”

Her grin grew, and he thought her eyes turned glassy with tears anew. “Ok! Ok. Ok-ok- _ ok-ok _ , O- _ KAY _ !” She announced, stumbling with her words. She fell forward into him again, and he caught her, hands around her back. “But not tonight?”

“Not tonight,” he confirmed, a little gentler than he was used to. He went to kiss her temple, but missed and caught her brow, not that she cared. “You are, like I said, still inebriated.”

As if to demonstrate this, she let her knees go loose, leaning on him for support and crowing, “How chivalrous! How gentlemanly! How  _ Princely _ !”

He expected his gut to twist, and writhe into some anxious serpent and swallow him whole. It had been knotting in his stomach for days, every time his mind returned to her suggestion, her  _ offer _ and all the ways that it could go wrong—and suddenly the prospect didn’t seem so daunting. She rubbed his back through his shirt, eyes closed and humming, and he suppressed a chuckle.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” She asked, voice muffled.

“I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t bother me anymore than what you’re already doing,” Vegeta drawled, but she was giggling again, and fell back onto the bed, arms spread.

“Nice.” She started crawling towards the pillows, wrenching herself along the duvet, scaling it like a cliff before she curled up in the very middle, spouting: “goodnight!”

Vegeta blinked, his chest suddenly cool, but he still felt her touch across his skin. He flexed his empty hands, and allowed himself another, mirthful smile. He flicked the lightswitch with the end of his tail, and days of self flagellation and frustration snuffed out, forgotten. 

He went to get in beside her, and hesitated. She lay spread eagle across the bed, eyes shut and a satisfied little smirk across her mouth. With a stiff lip, he clambered in beside her, pushing her out of the way and making her roll over and grumble. He kept his back to her, perched on the very edge of the mattress.

“How about tomorrow?” She asked.

He frowned at the wall. “For what?”

“Sex.”

The word knocked the wind out of him— how did she speak so  _ candidly _ about something so indecent? His tail flicked under the covers, and he shoved it between his knees to stop it giving away his lack of composure.

He gulped, jaw squared. “I suppose.”

“Cool.”

She let out a low sigh, and somewhere behind him, he felt her pull the blankets around her. His mind raced, and produced a traitorous image of her naked, and he was glad he was facing the other way. His hands still remembered what it felt like to touch her chest, and he clamped his legs together hard.

Tomorrow, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)


	12. DAY 202

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh ariana, we're really in it now :(

All day it loomed overhead, an asteroid on a collision path with a tiny, insignificant blue dot. He tried not to think about it, but the more he tried not to think about it, the closer the asteroid drew, until he could feel its icy touch across his skin, and he could taste her on his tongue.

Vegeta was going to have her; just like Raditz and Nappa used to have whoever took their fancy on whatever planet they were stationed on but this was far more salacious than that. He was going to have  _ her _ , and she was formidable.

He woke early, long before her, and before the sun crested the hills in the east, and started his training routine then. He punched, and kicked, and blasted it from thought each time it reared its awful head, but as the day wore on, his defences crumbled.

He ignored it.

It was no big deal, the men under his command were always sneaking off engaging in such acts; it was annoying, but he wasn’t going to let it dent his pride. If he acknowledged that he was apprehensive, then he was admitting the possibility that he might, very deep down, be scared, and that meant he was admitting defeat—and he wasn’t going to lose his pride over something so _ trivial. _

He was merely curious. His ki blast struck a bot head on, and it slammed to the ground in a smouldering heap. That’s all this was. Morbid curiosity.

The Gravity Room droned, willing to crush him into the steel floor. His chest burned, and he forced down a lungful of hot air. He glanced at the control panel, the digital clock glowing green. Late afternoon; he should have guessed by the churning in his stomach. He tried to chalk it up to simple hunger and nothing else. He’d been so focused on training, he’d simply forgotten to eat lunch—no matter, it wouldn’t be a problem.

The Gravity Room grew still, the red glow vanishing replaced with the usual searing white, and his ears rang. He walked, faster than normal, and more stiff legged, back across the ground, the afternoon sun beating on the back of his neck.

He ran over the repairs he needed. A new droid, possibly upgraded, a new steel floor panel, and one of the curved wall panels he’d cracked when he landed too hard against it. He went over the list again, wrenching the glass doors to the kitchen open, as if three items was somehow very easy to forget.

Vegeta paused, and felt around for her ki, expecting it to be buzzing away in the labs but he spun on the spot, facing the stairs. He hastily got himself a glass of water, and emptied it in one swig, staring up through the ceiling at where she inevitably was.

She hadn’t given him an explicit time. Just “tomorrow.” He turned the tap, filling his glass again, his mouth still dry. Was she expecting him  _ now _ ?

He weighed his options, glass in hand, his head craned to stare at the exact patch of white wash ceiling where her ki settled. He dumped the glass back in the sink, and headed for the stairs.

What did one do in this situation? Maybe he could put it off—just for now—just so he could better assess the situation before he dove in like a fool, but this was a matter of pride. He’d agreed, more than agreed, he’d risen to the challenge. Turning back now was cowardice.

He thumped down the hall, not caring how loud he was, speeding up when he approached her bedroom. The door opened before he could reach for the handle, and he pulled up just short of running into her. Bulma blinked, her hair tied back, and her face devoid of any of that tan cream she always insisted upon.

He readied himself, his shoulders hunched, the ki twisting between his muscles.

“Wow!” She said, backing up a step. She looked him up and down, and smiled, tentatively. “Have… you come to execute me? Because that’s the vibe I’m getting.”

“N-no.” He forced his backbone straight, relaxing his arms. He tried to lift his scowl, but it felt too heavy all of a sudden. “That would be a waste.”

“What a compliment!” She leaned on the door handle, eyeing him with some unreadable look. She nodded, and coughed. “Would you like to come in?”

She shut the door behind him, and he heard her flick the lock in place. His tail arched.

Bulma slid into view, sitting quietly on the bed, her hands resting on her knees. “What’s up?”

“You know what’s ‘up’!” Vegeta snapped, a little too harshly. He corrected himself, looking away. “Are you…” he felt his brain struggling to fill in the blanks. “Are you still—?”

“Keen?” She suggested, brow raised.

“Willing.”

“Yeah, I am, you just look like you’re about to vomit.”

“I’m fine!”

He wrenched his gaze up from the carpet and met hers, just in time to catch her pulling her hair out, and letting it fall loose. She watched him from the bed, and he recognised that dissecting look, the one she reserved for fixing bot components, and for him. Cold sweat formed on his hands, but he refused to wipe them on his shorts.

The woman still wanted to have relations with him. The thought went off like a bomb, blasting all others out of the water and leaving a barren wasteland in its wake. His tail curled, and he unclenched his jaw with great difficulty.

Vegeta racked his brain for what Nappa and Raditz had mentioned about the act; he’d never paid attention, and when he did it was only long enough to tell them both how crass they were and how they should channel their energy into something more practical. Staring up at him out of hooded eyes, her legs crossed neatly, and leaning forward just enough so that his eye was drawn down to the swell of her chest, he could hear Nappa making some lavacious remark about her, and it made him red. He couldn’t do any of  _ that _ .

“Do you want to talk to me, or just stare at me and hope I catch fire?” Bulma asked, tilting her head—she was waiting. Her hair spilled across her shoulders, and his fingers itched to touch it.

“It’s not something I have given much thought to—it’s beneath me,” he said, carefully. He had to play this right, he didn’t want her to think he wasn’t interested, only that he was maybe not what she thought he would be. He saw her going over the words in her head, picking them apart and her eyes narrowed at the apparent problem.

“Ok, so, I’d be your first, that’s fine, you’d be my second—it’s not like I know everything either,” she said, nonchalantly. “But if I had to choose someone I felt comfortable with and trusted enough and liked enough to want to have sex with, right now, on this planet, I’d only choose you.”

“What about on other planets?”

Bulma burst out laughing. An all over body flush bloomed in his chest, working it’s way down his limbs in a searing wave until he cleared his throat, his tail curling around itself. “Well, woman, perhaps you have poor judgement.”

“Oh shut up, I do not!” She snapped, leaning back on her hands. “I may have poor taste if you go by my extensive list of _ one _ ex partner, but my judgement is very good— but I mean we don’t have to, of course, I just thought—”

“N-no!” It came out before he could stop himself. “No, I’m…” he searched for the right words. He kept his eyes cast low, hands rigid at his sides and forced the sentence out. “I’m fine with continuing.”

Bulma’s face lit up, her grin bright as noon day sun. She jumped up, throwing her arms around his neck and showering him with warm kisses across his cheeks that made his mouth twitch. She pulled back, smoothing the hair behind his ears, suddenly worried. “Are you sure? You don’t have to just say yes because I ask—I-I don’t want to pressure you.”

He reached up, pulling her hands away from his face, but holding them close. They were tiny in his. “Woman, you said it best,” he managed, finally. “I… would only choose you.”

She bit her lip to keep herself from squealing, almost dancing on the spot. “You’re so cute! You’re just so  _ cute _ !” She announced, gleefully. “Can I kiss you?”

Vegeta frowned, and his confidence returned. “You’re really asking me  _ that? _ ”

He leaned forward, eyes closed, and pressed his mouth to hers. She relaxed, pushing back against him with a smile. He let go of her hands, and they returned to his shoulders.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” Bulma hushed between her caresses. “But you’re—hey, listen—you’re good at this, and you make me happy.”

His knees nearly gave way then and there.

He kissed her again, tongue finding hers, and he suppressed a throaty groan. She suddenly let go, grinning, and fell back onto the bed, throwing her hands above her head with a laugh, and he followed like a famished man promised a meal. The bed creaked, but he ignored it, letting Bulma guide him on top of her. He brushed her fringe from her face, barely grazing her skin, and she grinned up at him.

“Oh God, I should have prepared better for this,” she laughed when he pulled at her lip like she’d done to him many times before.

“What?” He muttered, nose to her temple.

“I’m wearing the ugliest fucking underwear right now and I haven’t even showered yet!” She explained, rubbing his chest. “I’m not wearing  _ any  _ makeup! I wanted to look cute for this!”

“I don’t care,” he said, truthfully, and she turned away giggling. He took cue, and leaned closer, burying his face in her neck. “None of those things matter to me. They’re unnecessary.”

“Well, aren’t you just Prince Charming?” She whispered, her hand finding the back of his neck, digging through the base of his scalp. “You really  _ can _ be gentleman.”

She held him in a vice, trapped to her chest, one leg hooked around his to keep him there for what he hoped would be an eternity. She’d managed to pull off his shirt in the few seconds he wasn’t attached to her, and he’d been irritated at first, but now with her hands roving his chest, he’d all but forgotten. Bulma huffed, laughed, smiling wickedly between kissing him, and talking to him.

This wasn’t so hard. He could conquer this.

“Hey,” she murmured, finally. “Give me your hand, I want you to touch me.”

He groped blindly for her hand in the sheets, refusing to look up, and her slender fingers closed around his wrist. She eased his hand down, trailing across her shirt and until she clamped his hand between her legs, and Vegeta’s eyes snapped open.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Are you ok?” She asked, head tilted. She’d gone back to looking concerned.

Her grip on his hand loosened, but he didn’t remove it. He pressed experimentally against her shorts, palm flat, and Bulma threw her head back with a laugh. His brow quirked, understanding brewing, and he leaned in with a smirk.

“I’m always fine, woman,” he drawled, pressing his hand a little more between her legs to make her jump.

“You’re a jerk.”

She pulled him closer, guiding him towards her bare chest. Her heart beat beneath his lips. Bulma’s hands carded through his hair, her fingers dragging down his neck, urging him on. Her hand found his again, guiding it past the hem of her shorts, and another cotton barrier, and his hand met boiling soft skin and curls.

“Bulma,” he breathed into her sternum, head heavy. He didn’t know why he said it, her touch drew the word out of him like a poultice to a wound.

“I’m glad you’re gentle,” she whispered, a strain to her words. His hand moved slowly, carefully, letting her guide his movements, taking note of how she reacted, or how her breath hitched or her legs— _ how her legs w _ —“I don’t think you know just how gentle you can be.”

He’d bridle at that normally, but now it just made his heart thud. She was the only one allowed to call him that, and to be fair, she was the only one he’d ever consider being  _ gentle  _ with.

His pants stiffened, and he tried not to grit his teeth again. He made an attempt maneuver it away from her, so he could keep kissing her unhindered, but she must have felt it because she grinned again, and pulled him closer instead. They wound up side by side, legs tangled, and closer than he would have ever imagined possible.

Her laugh became his; his smile hers, and he lost all sense of time. The worry eased, draining away and leaving him heavy with something warm growing in his core.

“Hey, I want to tell you something,” Bulma said, still kissing his cheeks.

He growled, hand on her waist. “You’ve done nothing but talk the entire time.”

“And you’ve been silent as a statue,” she crooned, brushing his face with both of her cupped hands. “I like talking to you.”

“You like talking whether I’m here or not.”

“Well, if you would let me finish my thought—which is that you are the biggest, most insufferable—” He cut her words off with a kiss and she pulled back trying to stifle another laugh “— _ Don’t! _ As I was saying, you’re the most arrogant and prideful prick bastard on the planet, and yet somehow you also manage to make me like you.”

She flicked the end of his nose, and he glared indignantly. 

“I could say the same of you, woman, but it’s hardly the time,” he hushed.

She pushed him, pressing against his chest, and he realised she wanted him to roll over onto his back. He resisted at first, frowning, but she caught his gaze, and he surrendered with a cocked brow. She straddled him, knees either side of his hips, her hands on his face, and she assaulted him again with another barrage of the softest touches he’d ever experienced.

One hand reached down to his track pants, pushing past the elastic and grasping at him. He moaned into her mouth, her tongue soft against his own. She pulled back, sitting up, and he watched with bated breath as she fumbled with the buttons on her fly. She tried to pull her shorts off, and when she couldn’t she rolled off him with an angry grunt.

“God, wait,  _ wait _ , hold on a minute! Ugh! You know, high waisted shorts look great but they’re a bitch to get them off sometimes!” She complained, kicking the shorts off her knees, and then flicking them way off the bed with a whistle.

He caught a glimpse of her underwear, and his muscles all seized together. It hit him hard in the chest what was happening, and he resisted punching himself, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Bulma turned back to him, wiping the sweat from her brow and offering him that ever warm and inviting smile. “Ok! All done! Let’s get back to it!”

She jumped back onto his chest, the mattress vaulting. She kissed his cheek, beaming like nothing else, taking his hands and placing them on her thighs. He squeezed, his eyes wide, and her giggle turned into a laugh, her mouth trailing down his jaw and neck. He threw his head back into the pillow, biting back a moan at her affection, a questing hand worked its way between his track pants and fevered skin again.

“Relax, tough guy,” she sang. She kissed along his collarbone, massaging him, and he sucked in a breath. “You’re all tensed up! I’m not going to hurt you!”

He tried, but it wasn’t an easy to follow order, not when she held him like that. Keeping one hand firmly on her thigh, he placed the other on her back. He made a conscious effort to loosen his shoulders, and to lean into the feeling of her hand on him, gentle and exquisite. He closed his eyes, despite himself, despite every command that had been drilled in his head to never take your eyes off your opponent. He felt her cool breath against his lips, and he leaned forward to meet the source.

“You could,” he mumbled against her. It was an effort to keep his voice level. “I’m vulnerable, you could very easily dispatch me.” He didn’t bother adding ‘if you weren’t so weak’, because in truth, right now, even she could finish him off if she wanted.

“Holy shit! Can you just chill out? I’m not trying to control or beat you or whatever it is you think I’m doing!” She said, smacking his chest lightly, and making him jump. She’d settled into a rhythm, drawing out gasps and flinches from him like music. “I’m not doing something  _ to you, _ Vegeta, I’m trying to do something  _ for you _ . One day you’ll get that through your thick old head.”

Bulma leaned in closer, her naked chest grazing his. She kissed him again, sweetly, before lowering herself. Time fell away, everything except the weight of her on top of him, and her softness. It was terrible and wonderful all at once, it was fighting until victory ran red between your fingers and succumbing to the inevitability of death together, over and over with every offered touch until he was struggling for air. Only the woman could do this; only she could ever do this.

Something coiled inside him, wringing out the ki from his sinews, and a shudder tore through Vegeta’s frame. He opened his eyes, head lolling, and bleary eyed he saw her perched between his thighs, her hair parted in a veil. She glanced up at him, and he came undone. Heat and ki pooled in his chest and stomach and then—the mattress ripped between his fingers, springs popping free.

Bulma sat up, wide eyed. He felt the bed shift, and was vaguely aware of her leaning off the bed to grab something. Vegeta reached out, hand trembling, and touched his face to make sure he still existed, that he was still here. Bulma wiped something from his stomach, and her face, before she slumped onto his chest with a heavy sigh.

“You’re so  _ cute _ ,” she mused, hugging him around the neck. “I can’t believe you wrecked my mattress though! Do you know how much that cost?”

Vegeta wheezed, filling his lungs to the brim and letting it out with a shuddering sigh. She curled into him, rubbing her cheek against his chest, into his heart, and he would have done anything to pull her deeper still.

“I don’t care about your blasted mattress, woman,” he managed, voice tight. He settled a still trembling hand to the back of her head, fingers working through her hair. “You’re lucky it wasn’t you.”

“And it wasn’t, see? You  _ are _ a big sweetheart!” She said, before adding with a hooded smile, “did you forget my name while I was down there?”

“You’re vulgar,” he murmured, the corner of his twitching. “Bulma.”

She laughed again, tightening her embrace. “I hope you’re not out for the count,” she cooed, kissing his still beating chest.

He pulled lightly at her hair, the strands slipping between his fingers like the finest threads. “A Saiyan doesn’t admit defeat so easily.”

The room returned slowly, the drawn curtains, and the woman’s clothes piled high on her study chair and dirty clothes basket, and the plants stacked neatly along her desk. The room smelled of her; heady and comforting. He placed a clumsy peck to her crown. He wanted to pull her closer again, pull her on top of him and have her cover him entirely

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Bulma warned.

“With the way you carry on it’d be a miracle if I could.”

She moved again, straddling his hips once more and looming over him. He took hold of her, keeping her in place, urging her to align herself with him. He didn’t care about being embarrassed or worried about his pride anymore, he didn’t give a shit about what was happening outside this room.

Vegeta rolled them over, pinning Bulma to the bed, and she shrieked, trailing off with another bout of laughter and furious hushing. He caught her lips, and she opened her mouth for him. She hummed happily, and he paused. “What?”

“You’re a good kisser,” she said, caressing his jaw.

“I have always prided myself on my ability to learn fast,” he smirked, before feathering affectionate kisses across her mouth, making her smile grow. He spread her legs with a tentative knee, and her ki flipped. He stilled, watching her, and the woman laughed, growing an even deeper shade of rosy pink.

“It’s ok,” she assured, dragging her fingers lightly down his back, stoking embers in his gut. “I’m happy. Come on, I want you.”

His heart stopped. He suddenly realised that he was crouched on all fours over her pale form, pressed up against her as if he had any idea of what he was doing. Having her kiss him and copying the gesture was one thing but this was something he’d never given more than a moment’s thought to, and something he’d actively convinced himself was pointless and stupid and—the blood drained from his face, and he couldn’t think. He didn’t know  _ anything _ .

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on? Come on, come here,” Bulma sounded, hands to his shoulders, smoothing out the tension.

He let her guide him closer, letting her pull him into her shoulder, lying flush against her. She moved, spreading her legs again, raising a shapely thigh up against his, jostling his body where she wanted it. Her hand slipped between them, and Vegeta stilled again. She stroked his hair, murmuring sweet encouragement. Her hand grasped him, and lined him up with her. “Slowly, ok? I’m here.”

He nodded, mind blank, and leaned into heaven.

His eyes rolled; and he let go of her to grasp fistfuls of bedsheets to stop himself from crushing her. Bulma dug her fingers into his back, and let out a long, dreamy sigh, and the planet stopped turning. She kissed him, clinging to him, before she pushed back against him, the shudder running down the length of his spine to the tip of his bristled tail.

“Are you alright?”

He didn’t hear her at first, the blood pounding. She repeated her question, with a caress to his cheek, and he followed her hand.

“I’m…”

She moved again, clenching her thighs, and his inhale caught in his throat.

“I’m fine,” he hissed between his teeth.

“Okay, then.” She adjusted herself with a strain to her words, and his tail shuddered again. “Take it away.”

He kept slow, like she asked; his movements careful and long, drinking in every wonderful moment. He saw stars, eyes rolling and in danger of falling out of existence but she kept him tethered to the planet’s surface. If this was what Nappa and Raditz were always seeking out; then he didn’t blame them—dear Gods, he would have maybe even forgiven them if they were still alive.

Bulma hugged him, his mouth finding her cheek, her jaw, her arched throat with every pass. The fog cleared enough for him to listen to her; to follow her hissed instructions and hints, and to kiss her again and again, eager to hear her gasp at his touch.

_ His touch! _

The bed groaned in protest, the springs squeaking with every firm and measured thrust dictated by Bulma’s gentle coaxing. The sweat ran down his back, and his tail thrashed in time with his movement. He pressed his crown to hers, unconsciously, eyes closed.

“Fuck!” Bulma hissed, dragging him back to the present. “I should have done this weeks ago!”

She squeezed, and he bit back another throaty moan. He couldn’t agree more. The stars burst in his eyes again, his vision going white. His arms wobbled, and gave way, and he collapsed into the woman’s welcoming embrace, face to her thumping chest.

In the gloom, hot sweat and something else filled his senses; Bulma ran her hands down his back, across his shoulders, and he pushed one hand up behind her. All the aches and all the tension left him, and something popped in his back, leaving him warm and lax. Finally, the woman prodded him in the shoulder, and he lifted his heavy head enough to meet her eye.

“You’re way too heavy to stay there,” she whispered.

He rubbed his face against hers, and breathed deep. “Get stronger, then,” he quipped, his voice barely recognisable.

She threw back her head in that haughty way of hers, and made a show of trying to push him off at first, then becoming more serious, and more annoyed. He hooked a leg over hers, and an iron arm around her torso.

“Ugh! You’re such a bully!” She whined, pummelling his shoulders. “Get off  _ me!  _ My legs are going to sleep!”

“Or what?” He asked, settling in and pressing a lazy smile into her cheek.

“I won’t fucking kiss you ever again! How’s that for a threat?”

He made a thoughtful sound, deep in his chest. He kissed her again, one hand roving her side, pressing into her muscles. “You’ve got plenty of guts, woman,” he found himself growling, mouth to her ear. “But idle threats do not scare the likes of me.”

“Ugh, Vegeta! Come on!”

“Hmm, Bulma.”

He conceded a little, repositioning and propping himself up onto his elbows, but he refused to let her slip away from him. His eyes grew heavy, and sleep beckoned, but he wanted more. They embraced, hot and close, touching and kissing, until his lips grew sore.

She was right after all, he  _ could _ get used to this, he thought, smiling when she cupped his face again. This could very quickly become an addiction, another part of him warned. He could very easily become obsessed—but he had discipline.

Finally, he relented, and rolled off her. He nearly fell asleep there, sinking into the bed, his chest weighing a thousand tonnes but she clambered on top of him, kneeing him in the stomach. He hauled her up higher, so her head would lie in the crook of his neck, and he could rest his cheek against her crown. His tail flicked between them, and he allowed it to curl about her thigh.

“Are you going to stay?” Bulma asked, voice soft.

He frowned sleepily at the ceiling, his hand hand finding its way through her hair again. “What are you talking about?”

She sighed, hugging him. “Good answer,” she breathed, adding with a quiet smile, “I’m going to hate you if you wake me up at dawn tomorrow.”

Vegeta smirked. “I make no promises,” he said, finally closing his eyes, laying his head back.

He could  _ definitely _ get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congrats on the sex!


	13. DAY 214

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [bong bubbling sound]

Bulma’s hand hung in the air.

If she did this, it could go one of several ways; a myriad of possibilities that all flowed together into an almighty current that threatened to drown her planet whole. He’d tried to destroy it once before, what would stop him from trying to do it again?

Vegeta sat on a kitchen stool, leaning on the counter while he wolfed down today’s smorgasbord of meat, grain and dairy— he seldom ate vegetables or fruit by themselves, but she did catch him biting into a mango like an apple once. Hunched over on the bar stool like a wild looking gargoyle, it struck her just how alien he really was.

“Spit it out, woman, what do you want?” He asked, taking a bite out of a block of cheese.

Bulma flexed her fingers, lips pursed. Head low, she kept her gaze level, the thoughts churning like white water.

There was, however, a second option. He might just decide to do it back. Oh, he’ll still be mad, of course, he’ll be livid! He’d go bright red at the very suggestion of it as a concept, but hours after he’d calmed down, he’d immediately start planning his retaliation.

Bunny hummed as she unstacked the dishwasher, bent over double in an frilly apron. Dirty plates from today’s feast lay stacked in a pile in the sink awaiting a soapy baptism, and several vases of fresh flowers bloomed across the kitchen benchtop to ward away whatever spirit possessed Vegeta at meal times.

Bulma stood poised, just behind Vegeta’s shoulder, her hand at the ready, for one of, if not  _ the _ , stupidest thing she would ever do, and maybe just the last.

“Woman, answer m—!”

She smacked his ass, and his tail shot out. The moment dragged out, and she saw Vegeta’s entire spine brace, a flush careening from ear to ear, and his eyes wide in utter, wrenching shock.

“Oh, my, what was that?” Bunny asked, looking up.

The kitchen filled up with something terrible, like gas seeping from a stove, and Bulma saw a spark ripple down Vegeta’s arm. She turned, and bolted.

She got to the bottom of the stairs when she heard Vegeta’s knife and fork fall on his plate, and the stool scrape across the linoleum. She jumped halfway up when she felt the ki sizzling at her back, clinging to her like the smoke from an oncoming blaze. She swung around the top bannister just as fingers grasped at the back of her shirt, and she threw herself onto the floor of her bedroom with a shriek of laughter.

Vegeta held a fistfull of shirt, bent over in the doorway, and about to remove Capsule Corp. off the face of the planet with his other hand.

“ _How dare you—?_ ” He thundered, a vein bulging in his jaw. The air thicker with ki and tar. “You _insolent,_ _disrespectful, vulgar woman!_ ”

“Is everything alright?” Bunny’s voice cut through the chaos, drifting up from downstairs.

Vegeta heaved in the doorway, ready to rip the frame, and part of her wall, free of the rest of the house. Bulma’s smile burst into a cackle, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s fine!” She wheezed, waving her hand and smacking it on the carpet. “It’s just fine, mum!”

“Ok, honey! Try not to slam any doors!” Bunny called. She started humming again, distantly, and Vegeta’s wild eyes returned to hers.

He lumbered forward, still holding side of her shirt. “No, I don’t think it is just ‘fine’, and I’ll tell you why it’s not ‘fine’, woman,” he lashed, every word laden with molten power. “I’ve saved your planet, saved your  _ life _ , and I am the one thing that will stop your planet from being destroyed yet again and this is the thanks I get?”

She tried to swallow her laughter, but her eyes wept, and her jaw ached from the effort to keep it shut. He kicked the door shut behind him, the ki still coming off his shoulders and filling the room with the smell of burning steel.

“Did you think such a brazen show of impudence would go unpunished?”

Bulma stretched her arms up towards his face, and puckered her lips.

“ _ Stop it! _ ”

“Aw, Vegeta!”

He dropped to the floor, crouched over her and pinning her down. Her laughter petered out into breathless giggles, staring at him. This was getting a bit much now.

“Beg for mercy, woman, because that’s the only hope you have,” he snarled, and this time, Bulma’s smile snuffed out.

She wriggled, stuck, and for the briefest flash, fear flared in her chest.

Vegeta stopped, and suddenly he was off her, clambering to his feet. Bulma sat up, pushed her hair out of her face, and laughed again. “The upgrades to the Gravity Room are almost done,” she announced with a smile.

“What?”

Using the bed for support, Bulma hauled herself upright. She inspected the carpet burn on her arms, and winced, explaining, “the upgrades! Dad and I will have them finished tomorrow!”

Vegeta cleared his throat, forcing the ki to dissipate between his clenched fists. “G-good. As it should be, it’s been offline for too long.”

“Oh, it’s only been two days.”

“Two days I have to make up for,” he replied, stiffly. His fingers twitched, before he reached out and touched her elbow in a silent plead.

Bulma waved her hands, shrugging. “I’m ok! I was having fun! I just wanted to play a prank on you! Are you ok?” His face had settled back into it’s usual scowl and she groaned. “Vegeta, I’m  _ fine! _ God, you are so reactive sometimes! Are you actually that mad?”

“You were scared,” he grunted. Bulma suppressed a gulp. “I saw that; I know what that looks like.”

“I know you’d never hurt me, you big softie,” she went to pat his shoulder, and he caught her hand, feather light.

“Good,” he said. He nodded, looking away, but his scowl grew deeper. “Good. I’m glad you—” he worked his mouth over his answer “—you realise that.” 

Bulma tilted her head, and she laughed again. “Yeah! Yeah, of course! Pfft, I knew you weren’t going to kill me the moment we set foot on Namek!”

“Killing and hurting are different.”

“Vegeta, I didn’t seriously believe you were going to blast me because I bum tapped you.”

“You did,” he said, even firmer now, his voice low. “You did believe it, even if it was just for a moment.”

“Oh, no, Vegeta! It’s fine! Don’t worry about it; its instinctual! Come on, come here, give me a hug!” She pulled him into her chest, and he stiffened in her arms. She rocked on the spot, hugging him up under the shoulders and around his neck. “I trust you! I’ve always trusted you.”

She was telling the truth, of course. It had just been instinct, she felt trapped and her body reacted in the way that her brain had been hardwired to react eons ago by her ancestors but the guilt gripped her throat before she could stop it. It had been a tenth of a second, faster than blinking—but in that moment she was a teenager, and he was a dozen different men from across time.

It was nothing!

She stroked his spine, and after several, quiet minutes, he reached up, and touched her shoulder. Bulma leaned back, and Vegeta regarded her. She could see something in his gaze, wrestling with some idea like a fish gasping in the mud before he filled his lungs a little more than normal, and held out his hand.

“What?” Bulma asked.

He shook his hand, impatiently, and looked away.

She took it, and he stalled, hesitating. “You are not to mention this, to anyone,” he warned. “Is that understood?”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

He grunted, and pulled her hand around his waist.  She went to open her mouth and say that if he wanted her to smack him again, he could just ask! But her fingers found warm, wiry hair, and he closed them carefully around the base of his tail. Bulma’s breathing stilled, and she glanced up at him. He frowned at the wall, his expression stony, and she felt him squeeze her hand just a fraction. He swallowed, and let his hand fall away, leaving hers wrapped around a Saiyan’s only weak point.

“Vegeta,” she began, not daring to move. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up.” His tail writhed in her hand, the muscles flexing and hinting at unprecedented strength, and he shuddered, but kept his scowl. “I trust you’re not going to pull it—not that I think you could do any harm. You’re not that strong,” he rasped, and Bulma understood the weight of what he’d offered.

With her other hand, she rubbed his back, and leaned against him. He sighed, the sound rumbling through his chest. He flexed his tail again, and Bulma moved her hand, experimentally, hardly holding him and letting it wind between her fingers. It had a similar texture to his hair, thick and dense.

“I don’t want to hold this if it’s upsetting you,” she said when he shuddered again.

“It’s not  _ upsetting _ me,” he replied, voice thick, and she realised his face had flushed. “I’m used to it being in pain, I’m trying—t-to give you…”

She didn’t need him to explain it, she already read between his clumsy wording—his way of saying ‘I trust you’ without saying it. She rubbed her cheek against his neck, her free hand digging into his shirt in the tightest hug she could muster. Somewhere downstairs, she heard her mother busying herself in the kitchen, still humming a faint tune.

“Do you want to cuddle?”

“Don’t call it that!” He blustered.

Bulma let go of his tail, and he relaxed. She took him around the shoulders again, singing into his neck. “ _ Sounds like you want toooo! _ ”

“I am not giving you anything after what you did,” Vegeta said, his voice returning to normal.

“What? Oh, come on! It was a joke!”

“Hardly.”

She laughed, really laughed. So deep and raucous she ended up wheezing, her eyes hot—he made her laugh too fucking much! And his vicious pink faced barking when she did made it even worse.

She let go, stomach aching. “Pretty sure it was actually extremely funny on my part,” she said, collecting herself and planting hands on hips. “Making you pissed off is my favourite hobby! There’s nothing funnier!”

“So I’ve noticed,” Vegeta remarked, winding his tail back around his waist. His ears glowed white hot despite his fierce expression. “But you’re mistaken.”

“Mistaken? What? How?”

“There is something funnier.”

Bulma peered at him. “And it is?”

“Pissing _ you _ off.”

He smacked her, not hard, but enough to make her stumble forward, and shriek. “I  _ hate  _ you! I hate you, hate you, _ hate you! _ ”

Mouth hiked up in a sneer, Vegeta laughed, not even bothering to deflect or guard against her kicking his shin. She launched herself at him, spinning him around and pushing him out of the room.

“Get out of my  _ life! _ ” She ferried him back down the hallway, raving. “You’re the rudest, most arrogant, selfish—!

“Bulma, sweetie! Inside voice!” Bunny chimed from over the kitchen counter.

Bulma pummeled Vegeta in the back biting back another screen and hoping he’d tumble down the stairs, but he just continued laughing.

He dodged the last hit aimed directly between his shoulders, and landed softly at the bottom of the stairs. Bunny clasped her hands together, nodding to the plates and platters across the kitchen counter. “Vegeta, dear, are you finished?” She asked.

Vegeta halted half way between the kitchen and the patio doors, before he waltzed back, a broad sneer painted across his face. “Quite done, woman,” he replied, grabbing the block of cheese with a bite taken out of it, turning, and eating it whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive been trying to come up with an explanation for this stupid selection but i really can't except i think this is funny


	14. DAY 245

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is that a rod up your ass or are you just happy to see me?

Bulma fingered the edge of the plastic packaging, pausing by a window to listen for the distant drone of an operational Gravity Room. Outside, a summer rainstorm had fallen over West City, the sky a dreary grey, and rain falling in silken sheets.

She started off again, tucking the packet up into her sleeve; though there wasn’t anyone who’d see her. Her dad was locked away in the labs as always and her mother was out decimating bridge again with her socialite friends. Bulma’s hand settled on the door handle, pushing the door wide.

Someone had clumsily pulled their sheets up over their bed in an attempt to make it, but from the looks of it they’d struggled and given up towards the end. She stepped inside, carefully avoiding the neat row of sneakers and pristine white boots that lined the wall. He had a shoe rack inside the closet but it seemed Vegeta preferred to have things like shoes always on hand.

Apart from that, there was no other hint to his presence, though, she thought after taking a quick whiff; it did smell like him.

She pulled the packet from her sleeve, and ripped it open, pouring the little plastic stars into her hand. She set them out on the bed; there were multiple sizes, but all the same shape. She turned the packet over, eyes settling on the the words THEY REALLY GLOW IN THE DARK! Before she grabbed one of the smaller ones, and tested it by cupping it in her hands. It flowed a faint, fluorescent green.

It was silly, of course; just a $2 whim that was a cute idea at the time and now, standing on the end of his mattress, arms up to the ceiling, it was starting to sound more stupid than cute.

Rain ran down the window, and outside the gutters gurgled with tumbling water. The curtains remained firmly opened, tied in place and not moved an inch since Vegeta’s residence.

Minutes passed, and Bulma allowed herself to hum under her breath, sticking the stars carefully into position and building constellations across the white wash. The bed springs creaked under foot, and she littered the sheets with the paper backings for the stars.

He might like this, actually, she mused. After all, Vegeta was full of surprises, and he was a hard man to pin down at the best of times. Bulma stuck a star carefully in her recreation of Ursa Major, tilting her head and standing back on the mattress to make sure it lined up.

He might hate it too, of course, but what was he going to do about it? She swept the paper backings together, and scooped them up, admiring her handiwork.

“What are you doing?”

She startled, and stumbled off the mattress onto the floor.

Vegeta stood in the doorway, his shoulders hunched, brows drawn together and watching her with the mix of suspicion and interest he reserved for her.

She grinned, gesturing to the ceiling. “Ta-da! Check it out!”

With great effort it seemed, he dragged his gaze from her and graced her hard work with a cold look. “And?” He asked, stepping over the threshold.

She sidestepped around him. “They’re stars! Cute, huh?” She asked, deliberately giving him no choice in the matter.

He glanced up at them again, and sniffed. “You’re delusional, as always.” He kicked his shoes off, and placed them in their empty space along the wall. “Out with it, woman, what do you want?”

“Nothing,” Bulma said. She sat on the end of his bed, watching him start his normal afternoon routine, beginning with slipping into the en-suite and washing his face. “Your room is just so boring, I thought it could use a little personality.”

He scoffed, turning the tap off. She risked a quick look past the door just to see what his bathroom sink situation was. She’d bought him everything she’d used to get Yamcha, but he didn’t seem to use anything except the toothbrush and toothpaste. He didn’t even shave.

“It has a personality, woman,” he announced.

“And what personality is that?”

“Boring.”

“Ugh! You’re so ungrateful.”

Vegeta appeared by the door again, wiping his face with a fresh towel. “Get out,” he growled, without any bite. Bulma stayed put. He glared, and said, pointedly, “I want to change.”

“Cool, go for it!” Bulma beamed, hands resting chaste in her lap. “Don’t mind me.”

His glare deepend, and with a dramatic sigh, Bulma got to her feet, and pushed past him. She closed the bedroom door behind her, but leaned up against it, arms folded.

“What are you doing now?” He growled by the door.

“Waiting,” Bulma replied.

“I’m having a shower.”

“Oh, without me?”

“ _ Wha _ —? Shut up! Shut  _ up _ !” She heard the ensuite door slam shut. “You’re despicable! Just shouting whatever crass thought crosses your mind!” He yelled over the sound of the taps turning on.

Bulma shouldered the door open again, stepping inside. She plopped herself down on his bed, kicking her legs out and falling back into the pillows. “It’s ok! You can admit you’ve never thought about it until now!”

“Would you be  _ quiet _ ?! I’m aware that’s extremely hard for you!”

“Big talk coming from the person  _ actually _ yelling!” Bulma retorted, blowing a raspberry at the bathroom door. Steam spilled out from under the crack, and she heard him snarl, turning the hot water higher again. It was a miracle he never scalded himself. “Hey, weird question! Can I get some samples from you?”

“ _ NO! _ ”

“I’m not going to do anything weird with them! I just want some saliva and hair samples to compare!”

“For what purpose?!”

“Science!” She sat up in bed, crossing her legs, and talking to the bathroom door. “I never really thought about it when I met Goku but now that I know you’re both Saiyans, I want to understand your physiology better!”

“Ask Kakarot if you want  _ samples _ ,” Vegeta spat. Somewhere on the other side she thought she heard the sound of him popping the cap back onto the shampoo. “Though it might be mixed with whatever dirt and waste he rolls in.”

“ _ Ugh!  _ I  _ would _ but he doesn’t trust anything related to medicine because he always thinks it’ll involve needles—! Look, it would just be useful,” Bulma said. “I don’t know what your baseline is, so if you’re hurt or sick, I don’t know what I’m meant to look for or what’s dangerous for you. Like, you clearly have a higher body temperature than me, so if you ran a fever, I don’t know if I would realise—!”

“Good thing for you that Saiyans do not get sick,” Vegeta drawled.

“Everyone gets sick!”

“Not to whatever pathetic strains you humans get otherwise Kakarot would be dead by now on this sty of a planet.”

_ Sty? As in a “pigsty”? How does he even know what that is? _

“I’m just trying to help you!”

The taps turned off, and the drain gurgled. “Your idea of help and what is actually useful are vastly different things, woman.”

Bulma went to snap at him that she’d given him everything he could ever dream of and more but held back, adjusting herself. She’d be handing victory to him on a silver platter.

“Fine then. If I’m not helpful I’ll stop being nice to you and ordering you delivery.”

He paused on the other side of the door, and she could feel his narrow eyed scowl radiating through the wood. The handle clicked, and the door opened slowly. Vegeta hastily pulled a clean black shirt straight, regarding her.

“Fine,” he said. “Even a Prince can compromise.”

Bulma bit the inside of her cheek to keep the cheesy grin off her face. “So you’ll help?”

His frown cracked, and one eyebrow arched. “You can have one thing from me that isn’t totally disgusting.”

“Done! A hair sample!” She stuck out her hand for him to shake, and he glazed over it, his eyes returning to the ceiling.

“And I suppose these are now permanent fixtures like the weeds your mother deposits here every week?” He asked, walking around to the other side of the bed.

“Well, you can take them down if you really don’t like them—or you could move them! They’re stickers, so they’ll come off if you pull them.”

“Hmph.” The mattress bounced, and Vegeta half jumped, half collapsed onto the bed, his arms folded behind his head. He settled back into the pillow, eyes closed, and one knee raised with a deep sigh. “Whatever.”

Bulma twisted around, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed. She eyed the clock on the nightstand, and the still light sky outside. “Going to bed already?” She asked, coyly, resisting the urge to prod his bent knee.

“Not even death could give me rest with you chattering away.”

“Are you sure that someone isn’t waiting for me to jump his big Saiyan self?”

The flush worked down his neck faster than sound and he went rigid. “You’re depraved,” he growled, closing his eyes again.

“You don’t complain so much when I kiss you,” Bulma offered, gaining another rabid snarl in return. “I’m teasing.”

He opened one eye. “I’m aware.”

She tilted her head, regarding him. The image of him when he first crash landed on Earth, spitting fire and covered in blood and dirt and the freshly showered man in a clean shirt and bike shorts felt decades apart. She lay back, head on the pillows beside him with a smile. He didn’t bother twisting away from her when her shoulder brushed against his.

She was almost impressed by how long it took before she was seated on his lap, bent over and kissing him. The stubble on his cheeks rubbed against her hands like sandpaper, and he struggled to keep up with her.

This had become routine. Maybe not every night, but most nights, she found herself sneaking into his room, or waiting in the kitchen after he’d finished training. She’d strategically wait in her lab until she heard the sound of the Gravity Room change, and she would just  _ happen _ to run into him in the halls. Oh, of course, he acted like he hated it. He’d gripe, and complain, and bemoan that he had no personal space and then minutes later he would be running his hands over her shoulders, and offering her the rarest of smiles.

“Why are you so keen on Saiyan genes?” He puffed, eyes half closed. His tail wound around her thigh, flexing. “I’m not concerned you will  _ do _ anything with it; you’re a genius but your technology is limited, so why?”

She shrugged, catching her breath—an odd word choice, but she’d let it slide if it meant he would keep his hands on her. She blew her fringe out of her face, and his mouth twitched into a tiny, half smirk.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but it’s a weird thing to ask so I just haven’t.”

“Hmph.”

“Besides, I think you and I have reached that stage in a relationship where I can ask you for a hair sample and you won’t immediately try to break anything.”

“I could still do that,” he said, willing her closer. She settled onto his chest, and he pressed his mouth to hers as he spoke, breath hot, “you are not answering my question.”

“I told you, I want to understand your physiology better; just in case anything happens!” She explained. “Plus, haven’t you wondered why humans and Saiyans are so similar?”

“I have not wondered, and we are not similar.”

“Calm down! ‘Similar’ doesn't mean ‘the same’, ok? I’m just saying, we are both bipedal, relatively hairless hominids, with five digits including opposable thumbs, and big brains! Isn’t that weird to you? That two species separated by galaxies ended up looking relatively the same?”

She sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears, and ignoring him when he went to pull her mouth to his again. “Don’t you want to see _ why _ that is? Why is it that so many species— _ people _ —across different planets ended up with the same hox genes—the same blueprint for bipedalism?”

“You are thinking about this too much,” Vegeta warned half heartedly, lying back and abandoning his traverse of her thighs.

“And of course then there is the other elephant in the room, the fact that human and Saiyans can interbreed— _ successfully! _ That implies are genetics are similar enough to produce viable offspring! Obviously we don’t know how successful it is until Gohan gets older and we know a little more but—!”

“Bulma.”

“ —I’m not a geneticist, of course, but I think I could figure it out! What if we are all descended from a single missing link? A common ancestor that branched off into thousands of different species across the galaxy?”

She rolled off him, swinging her legs around onto the edge of the mattress, hunched over in thought. She’d only been concerned about the disease aspect of it, especially if he hadn’t been exposed to Earth only contageans but now—

Vegeta buried his face into the back of her neck, breathing deep. He reached around, his hand slipping up under her shirt and grazing her tummy with that tentative tenderness that made her stomach somersault.

“Are you done?”

“ _ Am I done _ ?” Bulma snorted. “Ugh. Typical man. You only care about one thing! This could be very important, you know!”

She felt him frown against her, and pause. “I don’t doubt you consider it important, woman,” he said and she almost laughed at how diplomatic his word choice was, but he stroked the line between her belly button and the top button of her jeans, and she thought better of it.

“I am just questioning your timing.”

How unusually polite of him! She turned her head, and met his dark eyed scowl. His tail swayed, giving away his intention. With another, practiced theatrical sigh, she flopped back onto the bed, hands above her head. “Ok,  _ fine _ .”

Vegeta leaned over, stars glowing behind his head. “What is this?” He asked, brusquely.

“What?”

He gestured to all of her, and his frown deepened. She fixed him with a demure look, raising one leg up in a tantalizing way and curving herself into the sheets. Vegeta cocked his head.

“I’m being sexy,” she offered.

Vegeta blinked. “Ok?”

She went to kick him, but he caught her ankle with a wicked look. She tried to rip her ankle free, but he held her firm, and she threw back her head with a groan. “ _ Uuuuugh! _ Why don’t you make anything easy?”

He let go, and the smugness in his features gave way to something a little softer.

Fine. She could let the sample thing go for a few hours. He clamped a hand to her chest, and her breath caught. Ok, she could let it go for tonight, at least.

He leaned forward, smile growing, and he slipped into the movements he only practiced with her. Bulma sighed, chest sinking, and she tilted her head to let him kiss up and down her neck.

It’s good, just like the other times, slow, and filled with infectious laughter. She moved from his lap, to her back, and sitting up above him and back again until every breath was wet. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, and he shuddered, with one last stifled groan, his tail went stiff.

The room returned, in chunks and then all at once, and Bulma sank into the bed. The stars glowed across the ceiling. Velvet clouds stretched out over West City, the city lights winking in the rain. Vegeta moved again, and wiped the sweat from her brow with his hand.

“Gross!” She croaked, head fuzzy.

He laughed, and kissed her cheek before sliding off her. His chest heaved, hands resting on his stomach, eyes closed. Even in the gloom, his cheeks glowed; a now familiar warm smile plastered across his face. Bulma reached out and touched his arm. He didn’t jump, but opened an eye to give her a pointed look.

“Hi there,” she whispered.

He frowned, but chuckled. “Hello.”

“Can I tell you something?”

Vegeta’s gaze returned to the ceiling, and he gave a pleasant hum. “As if I could stop you.”

“This is always my favourite,” she breathed.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t want to tell him that this was when he was the most handsome—not in any  _ classic _ way, of course, Vegeta looked like a poorly shaved baboon most of the time—but his energy changed, and everything softened. His face lost its harshness, the stern lines ironed out and replaced by a broad grin that she knew no one else had witnessed. In the hazy fugue of evening, he became a different person, and he wouldn’t want to hear that at all.

“You’re way more fun to talk to when you’re like this,” she said instead, prodding him.

“Where as nothing at all seems to shut you up for more than a few minutes,” he retorted, folding his hands up behind his head.

She thumped him hard in the shoulder, but he just sniggered. She lay back, pressed up flush against his side, head tilted towards his chest. Rain pelted the roof and windows, falling in heavy sheets across the grounds. Sweat formed where their skin touched, but Bulma stubbornly refused to move. The glow of the stars started to fade, and she turned her head towards him in the dark.

“Is this enough to bribe you into giving me more than a hair sample?” She asked.

His tail wrapped around her leg, and jerked, and she screamed.

“You are not a good bargainer,” he replied, languidly, before rolling into her. “But I suppose you have never had to learn, privileged as you are.”

“Is that a yes?”

He pulled them together, arms working around her middle, and his tail dragging her legs between his. He rumbled again, eyes closed, and settled into the pillow more. “If it keeps you out of trouble, woman, then I suppose I must.”

She wriggled, trying to wrench her arms out from between their chests but he tightened his hold, trapping her.

“You are such a bully! If I’d known you were going to be mean like this to me all the time I never would have—!”

He drowned her out, catching her lips and laughing low in his chest. She made a show of trying to free herself, and avoid his mouth on principle, but gave up when he pressed his nose to her cheek with the laziest smile that had probably ever graced his features. Once she stopped, and kissed him back, he let go a little, enough for her to adjust herself and stick a hand under the pillow so she could lie on her side more comfortably.

“I have to go to the toilet.”

“Hmph.”

“I like you, but not enough to get a UTI because of it,” she said, untangling herself from his arms. He let her, as always, and slumped back into the bed as she ducked into the bathroom.

She flicked the switch, squinting against the sudden light, and blinked at the razor sitting neatly on the edge of the sink.

_ Huh. _

She flushed the toilet, and washed her hands, eyeing it. She glanced around for a bottle of shaving cream or something, but his bathroom, like everything else, was sterile and bordering on barren. A shock of blue caught her eye, and she paused by the mirror. Her hair stood on end, her makeup rubbed away, some brave eyeliner still clinging to her lids, all lost beneath someone’s calloused hands and hot mouth, and for a second it felt completely normal. 

Taking hold of either side of the sink, she cocked her head, regarding herself.

She’d just had sex with an alien, and not just any old alien, which was pretty wild in of itself, but one who she’d met after a failed invasion attempt of Earth. One she’d been the hostage of for—she counted up the days quickly—a week on Namek, and one who she knew, logically, had destroyed dozens if not hundreds of planets before they’d ever met. Now he slept in the room opposite hers, and used a razor, or had least attempted to at some point.

When she opened the door again, he’d had moved to lying on his back again, arms behind his head and eyes closed. She grinned, and jumped the remaining distance. The bed creaked, and Vegeta, for once, looked stunned. “What the hell are you doing?”

Bulma snatched the blankets from him, rolling herself up and sinking lower into the pillows. “My bed now.”

With a playful growl, the man who was covered in blood and mud when she’d first seen him, grabbed her around the middle, and pulled her back into his chest. “You’d dare steal from right under a Prince’s nose?” He threatened darkly, before he kissed her shoulder. “You’ll pay dearly for that.”

He grabbed both her wrists, pulling them towards his mouth while she laughed and pulled away. “I think removing both hands should do it!” He growled, kissing her palms. “It might set an example for you.”

They fell apart, kissing and laughing, Bulma deliberately ripping the sheets out from under the mattress until she was cocooned entirely, much to Vegeta’s ire. Finally, when her eyes grew heavy, and conversation started to die, she kicked the sheets and duvet free in a show of graceful good will. Vegeta took the opportunity to pull her across his chest, setting one leg between hers and tucking her head under his chin.

He fell asleep after that, his breathing low, and Bulma listened to the last of the rain trickling down the gutters. With hooded eyes, she watched the distant flash of sheet lighting through the window, Vegeta’s heart thumping under her cheek, and in the quiet, warm night, a single thought emerged just on the edge of sleep.

She didn’t mind him waking her up early anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not going to be constantly writing sex scenes they’re too hard I don’t know how everyone does it bye!
> 
> Also thank you so much for all the really kind comments the last updates I just haven't been able to respond bc i don't know what to say! Thank you so much for reading it and enjoying it and leaving feedback, i really appreciate it im just big nervous


	15. DAY 247

“This is why I wear gloves,” Vegeta announced.

Bulma carefully wound the tape around his split knuckles, in between his fingers. She’d picked out all the shrapnel, and it lay bloody and jagged in a kidney tray beside her.

“Then why don’t you  _ wear _ them?” She held his hand closer, inspecting the unusually swollen skin around one of the splits. She pressed there, gently, and felt it pop. “Somehow I don’t think gloves would stop you breaking your knuckles.”

“Hmph.”

Bulma grabbed another roll of tape, and fished around in the first aid box for something to use as a splint. “Can I get those samples off you while you’re here?” She asked, pulling out an ice cream stick which might have been used for something in the past, but now it could act as a splint.

“You have a lot of nerve to ask that of me,” he said, leaning forward.

She set his hand on her lap while she slipped the splint between his fingers, and wound the tape around. “Aw, don’t be like that! You were ok with it the other night!”

“I was compromised.”

“Please? C’mon Vegeta, you’d be making scientific history,” she crooned.

“I don’t care about improving your backwater planet’s  _ science _ .”

His tail had curled around her ankle while he spoke. A quiet reminder that only she was privy to. Bulma scoffed, winding the tape around until his index and middle finger were securely in place. “Ugh, you’re a jackass!”

Her lab had quickly become a part time triage unit before the nurses station. Vegeta would stumble in, bleed on her floor, and she would patch him up as best she could before dragging him to the nurse to make sure she’d done everything correctly, and to just ease her own worries about it. Bulma closed the first aid box, and stowed it away in it’s usual spot under the desk where she could grab it the moment the door opened.

She swept away the tools and reinforced plastic from her desk, and found the freezer baggy with the scissors. She pulled them out, carefully, and grinned at him. “ _ Snip, snip! _ ”

His frown remained.

“Alright, can I please have that sample? I promise I won’t take much, and I won’t cut you.”

“Just hurry up,” he replied, folding his arms.

Kicking the study chair out, she jumped to her feet and around behind him. Even sitting, his hair still managed to be eye level with her. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off. She rolled her eyes; she wouldn’t be allowed to touch him for the next few hours until his silent tantrum had worn off.

“Alright, let’s look for a good section—”

“How much are you taking?” He asked, suddenly.

Bulma ran her hands through his hair, trying to find some short locks near the nape of his neck. “Well, the test requires a few grams of hair from close to the scalp, so that means I have to cut off a small section.”

“That much?” He blurted, trying to turn around, but she grabbed him by the shoulder.

“It’s fine! No one is going to see it or know it’s gone!”

He didn’t pretend to be held in place this time, and twisted around, grabbing the scissors before she cut. “Saiyan hair grows slowly, it might take years for it to grow back!”

“Oh my god, do you care about your hair that much?”

He plucked the scissors from her hand, and bent them before tossing them aside. “You are testing my patience!”

“Oh fuck off, don’t you threaten me, Vegeta!”

“I am not  _ threatening you _ ,” he snarled. “ _ Yet. _ ”

Bulma stuck her hands on her hip, steeling herself. “If you don’t want me to take a hair sample can I have some saliva instead?” Vegeta got to his feet, and she dove onto the table, wrenching through piles of papers and schematics. “No, wait, don’t leave, I have the swabs around here—I got them just in case the hair thing didn’t work out because I’m psychic.”

“Shut up, I’m leaving.”

“No, no, no, no! Come back!” She skipped around in front of him, blocking his path. She held her arms out in some vain attempt to stop a man who could bench press a mountain. “If you stay and give me the sample I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Vegeta paused, his hand just about to sweep her harmlessly aside. His frown hardened. “Make it up to me?” He repeated, coldly, but his tail flicked. Oh, he was easy to bait. “What could you possibly have to offer?”

She took his hand in hers, holding it close with a manic look. “It’s good! I made it!”

Vegeta’s tail stilled, and his mouth dared to curve a little. “Aren’t you a busy woman?” He remarked, voice low.

“Just two more minutes. Let me swab you and bag it and then I’ll give it to you, ok?”

Vegeta inched back, leaning on his heel and fixing her with a distrustful look. He dipped his chin once in a solemn nod, and then promptly sat back down in the study chair, his arms crossed. Bulma beamed, and went back to wrenching open drawers and tearing through the contents. Finally, she found what she wanted, and tore off a single packet on the sheet of medical swabs.

“Alright,” she said, tapping his shoulder and making him open his eyes. “Take this, and rub it on the inside of your cheek!”

He eyed the swab for a moment, before he snatched it from her hand and shoved it into the corner of his mouth. He spat it out, and offered it to her.

“Sometimes I think you just do gross things to rile me up,” she said.

He smirked.

Delicately, she took the swab and placed it into the little container, popping the cap on firm. She held it up to the light, and stuck her tongue out gagging. “Eugh, gross, Vegeta you slobbered all over this!”

“You’re the fool who wanted it!” He roared.

“Yeah, I just wanted a swab, Vegeta, not a litre of spit!” She grabbed a pen off the table and wrote the date on the side of the container, and the letter V.

Vegeta got up, and dealt a feather light kick to the chair, almost sending it flying. “Your instructions weren’t clear enough!”

She put the container inside a torn envelope and wrote DON’T OPEN, SPIT INSIDE on the front before leaving it on her desk. She grabbed his arm. “Ok, my turn!”

Bulma reached into her lab coat pocket, and pulled out worn old capsule. Grinning, she flicked the lid, and tossed it onto a clean space on the floor. The capsule popped, the smoke cleared, and an industrial container sat on the floor. Bulma grabbed the handles either end, and hauled it up onto the study chair, and unfastening the locks. She stepped back, gesturing to the container. “Go on, open it!”

Vegeta eyed her, arms folded, and after what felt like an age, he reached out and opened the lid. Bulma stuffed her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. It was perfect, perfect, perfect! She’d replicated it perfectly!

Vegeta stared down at the contents, his face impassive, and she waited for his judgement. “This is armour,” he said, matter of factly.

Inside, laying perfectly in the cut foam, was a polished white breast plate, with reinforced material around the stomach and back, and flexible shoulders. Beside it, were new matching white boots and gloves, made with the toughest military grade fabric she could find. Vegeta reached in, taking the breast plate under the shoulder and lifting it up to look at it. “Is this repaired? Or altered?” He asked.

“Brand new!” Bulma explained, nearly dancing on the spot. “I took the old design and analysed the components and made my own! It was made of materials that weren’t known on Earth, so I synthesized the best replicas that I could. It’s just as strong and lightweight as your old armour!”

She reached into the packing beans and pulled out the gloves. “Look! Look!”

He lowered the breast plate, gaze flitting between the box and her before finally settling on the gloves. He reached out, and felt the material. “When did you do this?”

“In between my usual stuff! Just a fun little side project for me to keep me from going crazy with everything else—do you like it?”

He drew his hand back, and she thought he was going to touch her, but instead, he punched the breast plate square in the middle with a crack.

“ _ Vegeta, no! _ ”

He lowered his hand, and inspected the unmarked breast plate again. “It’s… satisfactory.”

“ _ Satisfactory _ ?!”

He placed the breastplate back into the container, hand pausing over the box. He turned to her, his expression stony. “I said it’s good, woman! What more do you want from me?”

She nearly ripped out two fistfuls of hair. “I worked for so long on those! I worked on them for hours at a time and I slaved away over a hot laser printer to make you state of the art armour, out of successfully synthesized alien materials and it’s only  _ satisfactory _ ?” She yelled, face hot. Vegeta bent down and picked up the empty capsule from under the chair, and popped the lid off with the end of his thumb.

“I can’t fucking believe you! Every time I think you can’t possibly be more selfish you go and you say something like this! I’m going to fucking explode! Don’t I even get a ‘thank you’?!”

The capsule popped, and the container vanished in another cloud of smoke. Vegeta reached over the back of the chair and pocketed the capsule in his shorts. Keeping his stormy frown in place, he reached out, and very tenderly, brushed the back of her hand. He leaned forward, nose to her ear. “You’ve done well, woman.”

She punched his arm, and a shock radiated up to her elbow. “Ugh! You’re doing that on  _ purpose _ !” Vegeta’s nasty smirk grew another shade darker, and she held out her arm pathetically.

“That was your own fault,” he pointed out.

“Well, your arm shouldn’t be so tough,” she complained.

He looked down at his swollen hand, bound up tight with tape and gauze, and turned it over with a click of his tongue. “I suppose this will take some time to heal?” He grunted, as if it was somehow her fault that he’d hurt himself in the first place.

She glared. “Yes,” she spat. “It will take some time because you can’t have a senzu bean every week.”

He nodded, and threw his hand down. “I’m hungry.”

“Good for you! Go stuff your face and clean out my fridge of the fourth time in as many days, I’m going back to work and never give you anything ever again!”

His tail flicked the edges of her fingers, curling against her palm in what she could almost describe as a caress. “Your mother isn’t here, which means you will have to suffice.”

“I am not cooking you a damn thing! Learn to cook yourself!”

“Fine,” he announced, simply. He turned on his heel, heading for the lab doors and twirling a length of ki about his finger. Bulma tripped over the study chair launching herself at him, grabbing his hand and swinging around.

“You put that finger  _ down this instant! _ ” She howled. “No blasts in the house!”

“Then you had better do something about food,” he said with a lazy, lion’s yawn. She could have broken his all his fingers if she had the strength, but the little smile on his face told her that would be exactly what he wanted.

She grabbed a handful of his shirt, and dragged him back over to the lab bench. She pulled the laptop towards her and loaded up a delivery website, before turning it towards him. “Fine! Pick what you want!”

Turning back to her desk, she piled the papers for the next Capsule Corp. project together, and tried to tidy her work space as best she could. Apart from all the tools, and schematics, and half finished projects and circuit boards, her desk had collected a swathe of empty or half empty coffee mugs, and dirty plates. She grabbed the envelope with the saliva sample, and pulled out her phone to text the head of genetics in Capsule Corp.’s medical division.

“When can I expect the next upgrade to the Gravity Room? Or has this project taken up all of your valuable time?” Vegeta asked, scrolling through the menu selection and clicking the trackpad an awful number of times.

“You are such an spoiled brat.”

He glanced in her direction before sneering at the screen again. His tail swayed, and she quickly planned her evening, and when she’d shower so she could see him before he went to bed—

Vegeta turned the laptop back for her, settling back into his usual cross-armed lean against the table. Bulma coughed. “Are you serious? You know how much money this is right? They’re going to have to deliver this in a pick up truck!”

“I skipped lunch so that you could play scientist,” he said, airly.

“Ugh!”

She typed in her details, her scalp prickling from the weight of his gaze. She looked up, and caught his eye before he looked away. She clicked the order button, and closed the laptop lid, mimicking his crossed arms and black look. “You have at least an hour before this is even on it’s way, so I hope you have something to pass the time because I am locking down that Gravity Room until your hands don’t look like mince meat.”

They weighed each other up, standing in silence. Vegeta’s chest barely rose, his tail held stiff, and Bulma felt her eyes start to water trying to maintain their locked death stare. Finally, she blinked, and rubbed her eye, and the battle ended. Bulma pulled the study chair towards her with the end of her foot.

“Ok, then,” she sighed, typing in the address of a streaming website. “I’m going to watch some shows before your huge meal arrives and I have to politely pretend to the delivery drivers I am having yet another party.”

Vegeta had already taken a seat again with a haughty smile.

“What exactly are you going to be looking for in that sample?” He asked.

Bulma loaded up another season of Desperate Housewives and turned the laptop so they could both see the screen. She stuck her feet up on the desk. “Anything and everything. You can get a lot from the cheek cells. We could look at it diagnostically and see if you have any issues going on that you might not know about, or we can look at it more broadly and investigate your hormones, analyse your DNA, and just get a general picture of your health and your baseline.”

“So you are not planning to use it?”

Bulma frowned, and tilted her head in his direction. He was watching her, carefully.

“No,” she replied. “I’m not—why, does it have a use?”

“In a way,” he replied, turning back to the laptop.

On screen another catfight broke out, and someone smashed a wine bottle on a table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vegeta fight back a chuckle. He really did like watching people fight, even if it was petty.

“What would be a use?” She probed.

Vegeta sucked in a breath, and let it out with a low sigh. “The fluid inside the healing tanks is derived from Saiyan stem cells. Saiyans are naturally hardy, and heal quickly, and so our genetic makeup was very useful from a tactical standpoint.”

“Were you worried I might do something similar?”

“Not you, specifically,” he replied, stiffly. He rubbed part of his arm, scratching at something, and she realised he was scratching at one of the smaller, more unassuming marks on his arm. She moved her head a fraction to see it better, and realised what it was. Needle marks.

“Thank you for letting me do this, then,” she said, gently. “I promise it’ll just be this, and nothing else.”

He frowned, but stayed quiet for once.


	16. DAY 252

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok NOW we're getting somewhere

“You’re taking too long.”

Sheet panels, wires, cables and boards lay scattered across the Gravity Room floor.

Vegeta rotated between three general criticisms whenever she came to repair something within the Gravity Room. ‘You’re taking too long’, ‘this is ridiculous’ or ‘you’re wasting my valuable time’ were trotted out again and again as if they were brand new and meant to be a painful splinter under the skin. But she was so used to it now, and there was nothing he hated more than her beating him to it.

“Well, you know what I’m going to say to that, your highness,” she replied, pressed up inside the terminal on her back, drenched in sweat, grease and dust. She stared up into the inner workings of the Gravity Room’s heart, filled with wires and flashing lights that all braided together into thick insulated cables under the Gravity Room’s reinforced steel floors. A hollow had been made in the green and copper monstrosity, panels and computer boards removed and placed neatly aside until she came to the last barrier.

She stuck a heavy duty glove out from under the panel expectantly, and someone deigned to place a phillips head screwdriver between her fingers with grumble.

“I don’t care what your excuses are, this is wasting—”

“— _ wasting my valuable time! _ ” she blustered, copying his voice. Someone kicked her boot and the dolly jolted. “ _ Vegeta!  _ This is very delicate! You could ruin everything just because you can’t take a joke!”

“I’ll ruin even more things if you don’t hurry up so I can get back to training,” he growled from outside.

With an eye roll safely hidden by the control terminal, she removed a plain dark board with ribbon connections clinging to it like veins. She turned it over in her hands, and revealed the culprit for today’s malfunction. “I don’t know what it is you do, or if it’s ki or what, but somehow, the connections to the mainboard and the processors on here have been damaged again but everything else is fine.”

Hauling herself out from under the terminal on the dolly, she sat up, inspecting the board. The connections had been blasted, leaving tell-tale black spots around where they either used to be or still valiantly just hanging on. It shouldn’t be a huge problem, she could just whip up another one and spend a bit of time installing it in between other projects, but Vegeta loomed over her, and she knew he wouldn’t be happy.

“Fix it then,” he ordered, arms folded across his chest.

Bulma got to her feet, and grabbed the towel slung over his shoulder to wipe her face. He shot her a disapproving look which she ignored with a smile.

“ _ Whew _ ,” she whistled, dabbing her neck. “It’s so hot down there, even with everything off; I can hardly breathe! This whole place is just a sauna.” She unzipped the front of her damp jumpsuit, and Vegeta looked away.

“Does that explain your lack of attire?” He asked, snidely.

She glanced down at her sports bra and back to him.

“Oh, come on! It’s  _ hot _ ! And like you care!” She tossed the screwdriver back into the toolbox, and grabbed her water bottle off the floor. “You’ve seen way more anyway; I thought you’d like it,” she said, taking a swig.

Vegeta snarled, but kept whatever rude remark he’d been planning to himself for another day, or another breakdown. Bulma offered him the water bottle, and he cast a withering look over it, and then her face. With one last swig, she decided to bite the bullet.

“Alright, this is going to take a bit longer than you want—I have some other things I need to do before I can make up a new board and fit this. I also want to just gut a few things in there that are starting to get a bit old and worn; some of the wires and resistors are looking a bit shabby,” she said, packing up her tools.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with the weight of Vegeta’s glare. “And how long will  _ that _ take?”

“As long as it takes,” she said, closing the toolbox lid with a click. “Now, unless you want to kiss me and tell me how brilliant I am, I’m going to go change out of this gross ensemble and maybe have a shower.”

His glare deepened, and she almost heard his teeth grinding. “You’re so childish.”

“Aw!”

He tsked, looking away, and she decided to bound forward, and press herself against his chest with a grin. He leaned back, keeping his arms crossed tight in an unbreakable guard, but met her gaze with the faintest smile. “Are you going to have a tantrum now, or are you going to fix your machine?”

“You’re a tyrant!” She said, blowing a raspberry.

“A prince,” he corrected, unmoving. “I’ve warned you about what will happen if you do that.”

“Do what? This?” She stuck her tongue out more, pushing up against him, and he stood firm as oak weathering a storm.

A white boot hooked around her ankle, and in the second before he swept her feet out from under her, he grinned. She fell back with a shriek, he caught the front of her jumpsuit, stopping her just short of hitting the floor. Bulma clawed at his arm viciously, spitting and cursing. “Fuck you! Fuck off! Pick me up!”

“I warned you,” he said, clicking his tongue.

She tried prying his fingers from the jumpsuit, but with no success. “Pick me up! Pick me  _ up _ , you jerk!”

“That’s not my name.”

“I don’t care! If I dropped my tools because of you and they all broke I’ll kill—!”

He lifted up a pristine steel tool box in his other hand.

“—good! Now pick me  _ up, Vee-Gee-Tah!” _ She poked her tongue out again in one last hurrah and Vegeta dropped her, rather gently she remembered later, onto the floor.

He pinned her shoulder with one arm, holding the tool box out to the side, dangling it a little too high over the floor in a silent threat. She coughed, frowning at him, and he loosened his hold against her collar bone, but kept her pinned.

“I’m just going to kick you right in the nuts!”

“I’m just going to roll you, then,” he replied, but he placed the tool box down off to the side. She waited, glaring, before she struck out with her knee, and he grabbed her other arm, hauling her over and onto her back, pinned against him now. She broke off into another fit of wheezing laughter, before he let go of her, and she slid off his torso and onto the floor.

A gloved hand grabbed her under the armpit, and set her on her feet. Bulma dusted off her jumpsuit, adjusting her hair band, before she rounded on him, still smiling. “Just who do you think you are, mister? You aren’t meant to wrestle with  _ ladies _ , thank  _ you! _ ” She spat, zipping up her front again, the adrenaline still charging through her joints.

“I didn’t realise you classed yourself as a ‘lady’; as far as I’m concerned you’re a foolish scold.”

She smacked him, and he blocked it with another nasty snicker.

“You better watch yourself or this ‘scold’ will cancel that 7 o’clock sharp sex appointment.”

Vegeta’s sneer vanished. “Don’t just scream that outloud! What is wrong with you?”

“Oh, you’re worried about someone hearing me say that over someone walking in and finding you on top of me?” She asked, teasing a deeper red out of him until he turned away with a snarl.

“ _ It wasn’t like that! _ ”

Bulma adjusted herself, picking up her toolbox with another disarming smile. She’d been on a winning streak with arguments lately, all thanks to the extra ammunition provided by Vegeta’s horror that the universe might find out he liked spending the night with her.

“Ok, well, if you are done playing space jiu jitsu or whatever, I’m going to go do civilised things and save the world.”

She threw him a line, and he yanked it from her. “I didn’t realise that involved building half baked machines that can’t handle a beating.”

With one last rasberry, she grabbed the dolly, and dragged it across the floor towards the door, with Vegeta shadowing her movements. Squinting against the glaring white sky, she shouldered the heavy door wide. Vegeta hung back slightly, out of view of any prying eye from the direction of Capsule Corp.’s science department.

“Alright!” She turned back to him, watching him leer out of the doorway like some grotesque little monster. “I’ll see you tonight!”

“Be  _ quiet _ !” He hissed between clenched teeth. He went to say something else, but paled.

“Hey! Bulma!”

Bulma spun on the spot, the dolly slipping from her hands before she caught it again. Vaulting over the neat box hedge, his shirt sweaty and his hair flying; Yamcha waved and trotted over to meet her. He tossed his hair out of his face, beaming. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

She smiled, and desperately hoped it didn’t appear as false as it felt. “Hey! _ You!  _ Yeah, I’m so sorry about that, it’s annoying!”

“Yeah, I’ll say!” Yamcha grinned, and Bulma tried not to let her expression openly sour. He didn’t seem to notice, because instead he leaned in close, and lowered his voice. “So where’s your murder housemate?”

“Why?”

The door of the Gravity Room slammed shut, and the ground shook.

“O-oh! Hey there, Vegeta!”

Vegeta paused mid step down the stairs, and Yamcha quailed.

“I don’t have time for you, weakling.”

“Hey, do you want some water?” Bulma asked, stepping in front of Yamcha and blocking his view. He blinked, taken aback.

“Uh, yeah, sure!”

Bulma grabbed his arm, dumping the dolly where it was and pushing him towards the garden path. She didn’t look behind her, but she felt Vegeta’s eyes bore through her skull and out the other side. Yamcha tripped, but regained his footing, half jogging along beside her. “S-so, how have you been?” He asked.

She pushed him onto the path, heading towards the kitchen patio. “Fine! Fine, I’ve just been really busy with work and the royal repairs,” she said, opening the kitchen doors and putting her tools down. She wiped her feet, and when Yamcha didn’t, she wrinkled her nose—even Vegeta had learned that one.

“Let me get you a glass,” she muttered, sliding around the kitchen bench, and opening a shelf above the sink.

Yamcha settled on a stool, a great dark sweat patch on his shirt front. “I—uh, I guess Vegeta living here hasn’t really changed him like Goku hoped it would, huh?”

“He’s ok,” she said, filling the glass with cold water from the fridge. She placed it in front of Yamcha, saying,  “I actually don’t really have any problems with him.”

He raised the glass to his mouth, and choked. “You didn’t call  _ that _ a problem?” He asked, jerking his head in the direction of the Gravity Room, dropping his voice as low as it could go. “He gives me the creeps, Bulma! I don’t trust him. I just don’t want anything to happen to you!”

“Yamcha, you’re really sweet, you always have been, but I promise I’m fine,” Bulma explained, unzipping the jumpsuit again but just to her collar bone. She ran over the potential places Vegeta would go, and assessed the potential damage while Yamcha took another draught, and whistled.

“Ok, well, it still worries me but, you know what you’re doing, babe!” He said.

“It’s Bulma.”

She saw his face redden, and he smiled, weakly. “Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t like being called that anymore?”

“We aren’t dating, so no. It’s fine.” Her brain carted out an image of Vegeta calling her ‘babe’ and she tried not to visibly recoil at the thought—

“Hey, I was thinking, maybe we should get everyone together, have a hang out, you know? A reunion!”

Bulma looked up, snapping out of her haze. “A reunion?”

“Yeah! We could just chat, see how everyone’s going, take everyone’s mind off—! Off the…” he cleared his throat, and set the glass down again. “It’s just a thought! I saw Krillin the other week and he mentioned wanting to do something like that too, and I thought if anyone has the space to do it, it’s you!”

“You want me to hold it?”

“Yeah! I mean, everyone knows where you live and your mum loves having everyone over!”

Bulma’s facade finally cracked. “Why would you just volunteer my place? You know how busy I’ve been!”

“I didn’t think you’d mind—!”

“Why don’t you ever just  _ ask _ ?”

Yamcha started, and for the first time he looked genuinely hurt. Bulma shook her head. “No! No, sorry,  _ sorry _ , I shouldn’t have done that. It’s fine, you know what? It could be nice!” She started automatically, tending to him. “I haven’t seen Goku and Krillin in  _ forever _ ! I bet Gohan’s huge!”

“Yeah!”

“How old is he now?”

“Oh, he’ll be eight soon!”

“Wow!”

She hated doing this. She hated  _ this _ . She listened to him tell her all about the times he’d seen Goku or Krillin and the stuff they got up to, and she tried not to fidget with anything. She hated how every time Yamcha stomped all over her and she snapped back, she was the one soothing him and apologising profusely for the crime of ‘getting upset’. At least if she got angry at Vegeta, he got angry back, but didn’t try to guilt her into apologising. Plus it was very easy to tell him to rack off it he decided to get too demanding.

“—Krillin’s girlfriend fell through, did I tell you this?” Yamcha’s voice weaved in between her thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, well, no surprise there!” Bulma said, before Yamcha was off again. At the end of this, he’ll say goodbye, then ask when she would like to have everyone over, and she would be expected to agree. It wasn’t that he did it maliciously, she knew there wasn’t a mean bone in Yamcha’s body and she loved him to bits in so many ways it was just that he didn’t  _ think _ .

“H-hey! Vegeta, man!”

Bulma stood bolt upright, and Yamcha caught his glass before she knocked it to the ground. Vegeta closed the door behind him, his glare still potent. His eyes flitted to Bulma for only a moment, but they hit like a suckerpunch, before he turned and stalked off towards the stairs. A bell tinkled, and out of the entrance hall a black cat shot across the carpet, chirping. Yamcha grinned, bending over on the bar stool with hand outstretched. “Hey, Scratchy!”

But Scratch slipped by, twisting out of the way of Yamcha’s hand and between Vegeta’s boots.. He growled, but stepped over the cat carefully, and onto the stairs. Scratch meowed, hopping up a few stairs in front of him, her tail flicking, and Vegeta fell unnaturally still.

Bulma leaned across the counter, trying to see Vegeta’s face. The words “be gentle” formed in her throat as Vegeta bent down, and picked Scratch up with both hands. Scratch meowed playfully, and Bulma’s mouth fell open when Vegeta quietly tucked the cat into the crook of his arm like a child, and continued up the stairs without a second glance. A few seconds passed, and a door shut somewhere above them.

“Did you see that?” Yamcha hissed, whipping back to Bulma. “He’s not going to hurt her, is he? Saiyans don’t eat cats, it’s not like an Alf situation, right?”

“No, no, he’s fine,” she said, still not entirely convinced herself. He definitely didn’t just take a big bite out of her like a fish the second he picked her up, which is what Bulma thought might happen.

“Do you want me to go check and rescue her?” Yamcha asked.

Bulma shook her head, taking Yamcha’s glass and putting it in the sink. “No, I’ll go. Yamcha, I’ll see you around, ok?”

“O-oh! Ok! Yeah! Hey, do you still want to have everyone over?”

Bulma did her best to hide her snideness with a grin. “Yeah, of course. That’ll be great fun!”

She waved him off, smiling as he jogged off down the path towards the main gates, and the second he turned a corner, she hurtled back up to the house. She swung around the side, avoiding the low garden beds and wrenched open the patio doors.

“Oh, Scratch! You silly girl, where have you been?” Bunny sounded.

Bulma looked up, and immediately, wondered when she had hit her head and how hard.

Vegeta transferred a very content looking black cat into Bunny’s waiting arms, who cooed like she’d been given a newborn. “You are a naughty little girl! I couldn’t find you for ages—! Oh, Bulma, honey, are you alright? You look puffed!”

Bulma jumped, standing in the doorway, her arms wide, and chest heaving. She collected herself, breathing in. “Me? Oh! I’m fine! I was just seeing Yamcha off!”

Vegeta rolled his eyes somewhere behind Bunny’s shoulder. Bunny’s face lit up, and she dropped Scratch to the floor to place her hands to her face. “Yamcha was here? Oh, dear, oh, dear! I missed him! Oh, drat, what awful luck! I would have loved to have seen him!”

“It’s all good, mum, you’ll catch him another time.”

“I hope so!” Bunny sighed. She turned back to Vegeta, and he shuddered at the smile she gave him. “Thank you so much for finding her, Vegeta, sweetie! I owe you one!” She winked, and headed off towards the hall, calling for the cat. Scratch chirped, but after a long second, took off after her.

Bulma clambered over the threshold, closing the glass doors. Vegeta watched her with a look that told her she was lucky he wasn’t blowing something up. “What was that?” He hissed.

“What was  _ that _ ? I’ve never seen you pick up the cat before! And look, don’t be jealous!”

“Your mother wanted me to learn, and I am not  _ jealous _ ,” he spat the word, getting in close. “You told me that parasite wasn’t coming around to train anymore, if you could even call it training!”

“I said he wasn’t coming around as  _ much _ ,” Bulma growled. “I can’t say just ‘fuck off forever’.”

“Why  _ not _ ?”

“Because he’s still my friend! We’re still friends!”

“You lie something fierce, woman!” He snapped, following her up the stairs. “Do you really think you have me fooled?”

“We’re not  _ sleeping together _ !” She kicked open the bedroom door, and nearly broke the new door handle. “Fuck, you are just so possessive!”

“You’re lying about wanting  _ being his friend! _ ” Vegeta forced out between clamped jaws. “If you don’t like him then I don’t understand why you go out of your way to accommodate him!”

Bulma tried to keep the flash of guilt hidden, but she felt it squirm across her mouth in a grimace—but at this point it didn’t matter if she was wrong or not.

“I went out of my way to accommodate you when we met!”

Vegeta buckled. “That was different! We—! We were on Namek! What the hell kind of argument are you trying to make?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know.” She threw her hands down. “I wasn’t expecting him and he dumped a reunion with everyone on me and I’ve just got a lot to do!”

“A reunion?”

“He doesn’t listen to me at all! This is why we had problems! He just doesn’t give a shit about how I feel—!”

He grabbed her wrist. “What  _ reunion _ ?”

She twisted in his grip, holding out a finger. “Don’t get mad.”

The realisation dawned, cold and terrible. He shook, his face going red. “ _ No _ .”

“I’m sorry! He arranged it and it’s happening! I don’t know when but it’s not that bad!”

Vegeta buried his face into ki filled palms, making a noise like a kettle going off, the lights flickering dangerously overhead. He took a second, and then another, and she waited for him to explode, but he straightened himself. He didn’t look at her, but she could see he was on the very prescipese of a meltdown like nothing else.

“It could be good! Y-you could spar!” She regretted her suggestion the second it formed.

“ _ Good idea!  _ I’ll break Kakarot’s neck, and  _ then _ the weaking’s.”

“No! No! No killing! None! This is friendly! And please, you can’t damage anything, I can’t afford word getting out that I have the alien who tried to kill everyone and levelled a town stored at my fucking house!” She grabbed his arms, holding him in place, and to his credit, he didn’t immediately snap them. “Vegeta, please. I’m annoyed about this too, he didn’t ask me, he just arranged it and told everyone it was happening!”

That seemed to reel him back from the edge at least a few inches. “I’m going back to training,” he said, finally.

“Where? The Gravity Room is offline.”

“Desert.”

She rubbed his arms, and squeezed them with a sympathetic smile. “Ok, but please, don’t be reckless,” she said, adding, a little lighter, “I want to see you later tonight still, and not as your nurse.”

He caught her eye, and gave a short, stiff nod.

“Hey.” She leaned in. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”

His mouth hardened, and he flexed in her hands, but he moved, tilting his head to meet hers. It was short, but soft, and he bravely gave her a peck on the cheek as well before he turned, and slipped from her grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think yamcha is ok


	17. DAY 255

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta drinks Respecting Women Juice I guess

For whatever reason, the woman always suggested “around 7”. Vegeta didn’t especially care, of course, but it was something that he had noticed, and figured it might have just been easier for her to suggest a regular time. It just wasn’t very tactical, of course, which he had pointed out, but he still found himself at her door, warily looking up and down the hallway before he knocked.

There was shuffling on the other side, and the handle clicked.

She grinned the moment she saw him, and the blood rushed to below his stomach. “Come in!” She hissed, beckoning him in like he was some common thief, and closing the door behind him. He turned, and she caught him in a stifling embrace. “God, I’m happy to see you.”

His knees nearly buckled, but he corrected himself, hugging her around the middle. He took stock of the room, checking the corners and shadows out of habit. Papers spilled from her study desk onto her chair, along with folders and rolls of blueprints. Her laptop, and several other tablets lay hidden under the mound of paperwork and reports that followed wherever she went. It seemed even on Earth, one couldn’t escape the inevitability of bureaucracy.

“Why?” He asked.

Bulma pulled back. “Um! Gee, I don’t know,” she began, sarcastically. “Maybe I just look forward to seeing you all day and then when I do I’m just really happy! Perhaps!”

“I get the point.”

“ _ Maybe _ ,” she continued, prodding him in the chest. “I just like being with you and it’s a relief when I finally get to since you spend literally all your time pre-training, training or post-training!”

He took her hand to stop her poking him. “I get the  _ point _ .”

“ _ Maybe _ —!”

He turned her wrist, and brought it to his mouth. “Enough.”

She stuck her free hand onto her hip, and his ears burned at the memory from the last time she’d invited him to her room.  _ You can kiss me all over, you know _ .

“Well!” She said, flicking her hair. It smelled of obnoxious fake fruit again, but he kept from curling his lip. He’d have it back to smelling like her soon enough. “Aren’t you just a classic old school charmer? Kissing a lady’s hand!”

“What?”

“It’s what people used to do ages ago! It was a sign of someone being very dignified and polite!” She explained, not bothering to try and twist her hand out from his.

He kissed the skin between her forefinger and thumb, before pressing her whole palm to his mouth. “That must be why I’ve never seen you do it,” he replied.

The rest moved quickly. She tore his shirt off over his head viciously, and he carefully helped her remove hers, because during the first few nights he’d ripped it and she’d complained for days. He let her guide his hand and pull him to her chest where he kissed below her collarbone.

“How’s the upgrade to the bots?” She asked. He liked when she dug her nails into his hair.

Vegeta stroked her neck with the hand not supporting him. “Acceptable.”

“You prick!”

He pushed his nose flat against her sternum. “If I praise you too much, you’ll have no reason to improve,” he growled, and she kicked out in her usual way.

“You’re impossible to please! That’s no fair!”

“I can be pleased, woman.” He worked his way across the pale sunspots on her chest, kissing each as he passed. 

She huffed, but smiled. “Nice save.”

Every night there was something new to discover, some spot or tiny mark across her skin, or some softness he had yet to touch. She scratched the back of his neck, a hand trailing down between his shoulders, and paused. “Excuse me, what’s this?” She asked, suddenly.

Vegeta didn’t stop, kissing the softest, sweetest part of her chest. “What’s what?”

“This big cut!” Her fingers brushed along the edge of the mark, and he tightened his hold around her middle, nose to the space between her breasts.

“It’ll heal,” he replied, plainly. He heart beat beneath his mouth, and he tried not to let a shudder ripple through his body.

“Vegeta! Come on! Far out, what were you doing?”

He reached down with a hand, and planted it firmly between her legs, making her jump. “What do you think I was doing?”

“Let me look at it properly!”

“I don’t need your wretched attempt at nursing, woman!”

“Let me look, or I’ll break your hand off!”

With a huff, he removed himself and settled back kneeling on the bed. Bulma sat up, scrambling around behind him, her hands all over him. “Oh, Vegeta! This is a mess! What the hell did you do? It looks like you got dragged across a highway!”

He knew what she was looking at; the great big graze on his lower back and dirty cuts from where he’d struck the desert floor unexpectedly. It burned, and twinged, but it was nothing major as far as he could feel. It was nothing worth bothering her about anyway, a graze couldn’t be stitched or covered with any great success; it just needed to be clean and kept dry.

“Are you alright? Does it hurt?” She asked.

He leered at her over his shoulder. “It’s just another scar for the collection.”

She pouted, hands on her hips. “Well, I don’t want you to have anymore!”

Vegeta fell forward onto the sheets, pulling a pillow under his chin, and waited for Bulma to sigh, and place her hands on his back. She rubbed his back, digging the heel of her palms into the knots around his shoulders. “It looks clean at least,” she said, finally. She dragged her hands down his spine, and his tail flicked.

“ _ Obviously _ ,” he replied. “A warrior like myself knows you can’t always rely on having a healing tank nearby.”

She lay down, slotting her leg between his, half draped across his back and shoulders. He allowed himself a little satisfied smile this time.

“I just don’t like seeing you hurt! I care about you,” she said, her cheek against his shoulder blade. “I mean, how would you react if you saw me with some dirty great mark like that?”

“I wouldn’t exactly... be pleased,” he said, stiffly.

“You’d be mad, actually.”

“I might—it could impact on Gravity Room repairs and I’d go deaf from your constant complaining.”

“Ugh!”

She went back to stroking his spine, running her hand along the curves and planes, tracing his muscles but always careful to avoid tender, grazed flesh. After a while, he felt her fingers whisper over the top of one of an older scar. “How did you get these, anyway?” She asked, quietly.

“Not by choice.”

“Ha- _ ha _ , very funny.” She followed the length of one scar, from under his armpit down his side towards his tail. “What’s this one?”

“Poor footing on my part.”

She rubbed the spot, warmly, and moved onto another. “And this?”

“Recklessness.”

She touched another.

“I was asleep.”

She paused, and shifted on his back. “What? You were asleep?”

He nodded, eyes closed. “I had fallen asleep, and there was an ambush, and I was blasted from behind. I don’t sleep with my back to doors because of it.”

Her hair brushed against his skin, and his heart halted when she kissed the middle of his back. “You can do that now,” she offered, gently.

He relaxed, letting himself sink into the sheets and duvet, Bulma kissing along each scar. She would ask, softly, where each one came from, and he would give a muffled response before she kissed the mark, sealing whatever history it contained away forever. She moved along his back, following his spine down, until she bent over double near his tail, rubbing his waist.

“Alright, you need to roll over before you actually fall asleep on me,” she said, and jabbed him in the sides. “Kidney shock!”

His legs kicked out involuntarily, spasming, and he spun around. “What the  _ hell _ was that?”

“ _ Kidney shock! _ ” She repeated, going to do it again, but he snatched her hands before she could. “It’s a thing kids do here! It makes you jump!”

“I don’t care what your feral little spawn do! Why did  _ you  _ do it?” He snarled, but it just made her laugh more. He squared his jaw, quashing down the immediate anger that flared in his gut; that’s what she wanted.

She laughed, and protested, but gave in to him with a mock begrudging sigh, until she lay on the bed again, smiling up at him. He kissed her, and kept her wrists well away from his waist, much to her annoyance, but soon he let go, and she went back to holding him.

He’d been concerned about the possibility of crushing her—it could be far too easy to harm her, and she didn’t seem to care, trying to haul him around on top of her every time, until he was like he was now, supporting himself on an elbow jammed into the bed beside her head.

She stroked his face, and he tried to fight back his smile. “Still mad?” She asked.

He huffed, and met her mouth. “You wish, shrew.”

At some point, she shimmied out of her shorts, and whatever else she had on, the bed bouncing. She slumped back, hands over her head and announced, “ok! Go for it!”

“Go for  _ what _ ?” He asked, voice hoarse. He was sick of these games.

She blinked, and laughed, and Vegeta fell forward trying to cover her mouth. “It!  _ It! _ Whatever you want!” She howled, swatting at his hands and rolling out of the way. “Come here!”

She wound up on her back, knees bent, and with a growl, he found himself on top of her again. He pressed his hands into her sides, watching her, before he squeezed harder where she’d jabbed him. She yelped, writhing and this time he laughed with her, levelling clumsy kisses across her lip. “Don’t! Don’t shock me back, that isn’t fair!”

“ _ Fair?  _ You shouldn’t be giving me ideas, woman! I never play fair!”

Her laugh filled him, a raucous song that reached deep into his chest and plucked at something new. He felt it every time she beamed, every time the skin around her eyes crinkled, and every time she threw back her head with an obnoxious snort—he’d never seen himself laughing, but he couldn’t fathom it looking anything like her.

“Is everything ok there?”

Her voice drew him back.

He kissed the juncture of her rib cage to hide his pinking cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“What are you planning to do exactly?” She raised an eyebrow, and even though she fit perfectly between his arms, he was tiny under her expectant gaze.

Steeling himself, heart racing, he returned to kissing her, pressing his jaw, nose and crown to every soft curve and swell. She moved her legs, and he placed a hand on her thigh to stop her squirming again. He stilled a moment, peering at his hand dug into her thigh. Normally it was smooth, but this time there was the tell-tale soft stubble of new growth. It’d never occurred to him that she’d have body hair like him—but obviously she did. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? For what stupid reason did she remove it—?

Something in the room shifted.

“H-hey, what’s up?” Bulma asked, propping herself up, face red.

Her ki changed. Twisting in her chest and growing thorns with every passing moment, until he let go of her thigh. Throat tight, he tried to offer her a gentle look, but from the expression on her face, it must have come out more like a grimace.

“This isn’t necessary,” he said, sweat cooling on his skin. “We don’t—I don’t have to be here.”

Bulma sat up, an arm clamped across her bare chest. “Oh—? You don’t want to…?”

Her ki changed again, and this time, he realised exactly what it was.

“No!” he blurted. “But we don’t have to do this if you—have other matters to attend to.”

She cocked her head, and in the gloom, she frowned. “Ok, I think we’re crossing wires here and making assumptions. Yes, I want to have sex with you right now, Vegeta—”

“Don’t just say it like that! You couldn’t have said that any louder!”

“Shut up! That’s what it is! You’d lose your fucking mind if I called it anything else and I don’t want to have anything lost in translation—I  _ want _ to have sex with you.”

“ _ Then why are you so nervous?! _ ” He barked, pulling at his hair.

“ _ Because I like you a lot and I have personal issues! _ ” Her chest heaved, and she ground the heel of her palms into her eyes. “Ugh! I’m sorry!” She fell back, hands covering her eyes, and her ki grew smaller still.

He waited, very patiently he felt, until he got annoyed. “What is it?”

“Huh?”

He struggled to come up with something that wasn’t too interrogating. “Spit it out. What is it that upset you?”

Bulma shrugged, her arms still folded. She lifted her legs up higher, and he noticed she tried to cover herself. “I dunno,” she said. “I thought you were—I thought you were going to do something and I got nervous because men have always been super weird about my body and I guess I just got worried.”

“Weird? I’m not weird!”

“I’m not saying you are!”

“Then what the hell  _ are _ you saying?!” 

“Ugh! Vegeta, no—!” She sat up, and grabbed his hands and he couldn’t— _ wouldn’t? _ —pull away. She looked down at the bed, brow furrowed. “You’re a rude little man but you’ve never said anything gross about me, and you’ve never looked at me like I’m a piece of meat. But a lot of people do,” she laughed, and it was awful and hollow. “I’m still just seen as a big pair of tits on legs, and I guess I was just anxious that you might, I dunno... that it might turn out you see me that way too.”

Vegeta straightened himself, and he felt his scowl deepen.

It was true, he’d never said anything lecherous or vulgar about her because it—well, it’d never crossed his mind to begin with! Maybe he’d thought one or two things about her but he would never  _ say  _ it! It wasn’t relevant, it wasn’t prudent, and it wasn’t—his brain dredged up one of her conditions for their engagement, one that he’d laughed at because it just seemed so silly at the time.

‘You have to respect me.’

He wrestled briefly with the idea of leaving her, but the now all too familiar feeling of guilt ran rings around his stomach and he found himself swallowing his pride, just a little.

“Y-you are…” he began, stiffly. “You are a… fine woman.”

“Aw, Vegeta, you’re so sweet—!”

“No, shut  _ up! _ Y-you are worthy of my respect.”

She gave a single, deliberate blink. “Oh, that didn’t come out the way you wanted it to so I’m going to give you a second chance before I throw you out.”

His throat ached, and he grasped her hand tighter without meaning to. “I’m saying that there is—there is nothing that would make me lose respect for you. You are… skilled—and clever, I’d say. Far beyond anything that the rest of these half-wit simpletons could ever hope to glimpse, let alone  _ be! _ I am—” he held his breath “—well provided for.”

He went quiet, all the air forced from his lungs in a single, clumsy admission. Bulma sniffed, and she wiped something from her face. He cursed himself; he hadn’t meant to upset the woman further! He thought he was being honest—!

“This says more about me than it does about you but… that’s one of the nicest things anyone has said to me, you know,” Bulma said, looking up at him. She offered him a small, unsure smile, and he worried he might break all her fingers. She reached up and put her hand to his cheek. “Thanks.”

He clamped his jaw tight. “Just don’t go telling everyone,” he grunted, ears hot. “I have a reputation to keep.”

“I won’t throw you out.”

“How generous of you.”

They laughed, Bulma wiping her eyes on the back of her hand and Vegeta leaning in to press his crown to hers. She settled where she was, holding his hand in her lap and pulling absentmindedly at his fingers. “What did you think I was going to do?” He asked, finally.

“Huh?”

“You were worried that I was going to ‘do something’,” he said, watching her spread his hand out, and compare it to her own.

She shook her head. “Oh, it’s fine. Look how big your hands are!”

“Quite. Well, woman, if it makes you this upset I won’t do whatever it is so I don’t have to hear you complain about it.”

“No, it’s the opposite, I wanted you to do it, I was just worried you wouldn’t or you’d—Vegeta, if I tell you what it was I think you might pass out.”

That caught his attention, and something competitive prickled in his chest.

He scoffed. “Oh, really? Well, whatever stupid it thing it was I’m sure it wasn’t anything a Saiyan such as myself couldn’t handle with ease.”

She let go of his hand, and fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Fine. I thought for a moment you were going to eat me out.” Whatever expression crossed his face was obviously not the right one because she threw back her head with a groan and announced, firmly, “I thought you were going to put your mouth on my—!”

“ _ I get the idea! _ ” He blustered, looking away, staring at an empty space on the bed. “I get the idea, it only took me a moment to decipher your crass Earth slang!”

“Well, there you go, that’s what it was.”

Another moment passed, and Vegeta worked his jaw over his word choice. He tilted his head, eyeing Bulma’s thighs again, and tried his best to lift his frown. “That isn’t much of a challenge,” he sniffed.

Her foot found his shoulder, not kicking him, but definitely trying to push him over. “Are you sure? You sound pretty unhappy about it.”

“It’s nothing to me, I don’t mind,” he replied. “It’s not exactly different from you doing it, I imagine.”

Bulma’s head shot up, eyes wide. “Wow, this is surprisingly mature coming from you.”

“ _ Surprising _ ?” He growled.

“I just meant you’re not being juvenile and saying ‘eugh, that’s gross’!”

“It’s all pretty objectively disgusting, Bulma,” Vegeta replied, but his tail flicked, betraying his thoughts. He flexed his hands, smoothing out the wrinkled duvet beside him. If he liked… her doing that, then it was reasonable to assume that she might—that she might like… she caught his eye, and it was a miracle his face didn’t just combust.

“Are you still—?”

“Keen?” He cracked a smirk, and she snorted. 

He reached out and brushed her thigh, in an awkward mirror of all the assurances she’d so readily offered him. She smiled, sweet and warm, repositioning herself. He followed, stiffly, but he pushed his hands up under her all the same and kissed the spot just under her rib.

Everything about her was as soft as the silks he was never allowed to touch as a child and velvet as the sheets he first slept on when he came to Earth. He resisted the urge to rub his cheek against her tummy, relishing the fine dark hair that trailed down to her belly button that he’d grown desperate to follow. Something touched the back of his head, and he halted. Bulma carded her fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, and he swallowed his pitiful groan.

He ran over the things that Bulma had done when she’d been in this position in his mind; all the things that he had liked and made his knees weak with the memory. He nipped at the soft swell of her tummy, and kissed it hurriedly, and Bulma laughed somewhere above his head.

“Wow,  _ ok! _ ” She grinned again, and it thrilled him. “You can do that if you’re nice, but if you give me a hickey anywhere that’s visible I am going to kill you.”

He made a thoughtful sound, as if considering, and bowed his head to gently bite her hip. “Will you now? I don’t know if you are in much of a position to bargain.”

Bulma kicked him, not hard enough to hurt, but he could tell she’d still put her weight into it. He sniggered, and kissed her again, pressing his fingers into her back.

“Fucking hell, I don’t know why I was anxious about you!” Bulma said, but he heard the smile to her words, and his briefs became a prison.

“I told you I would get used to it, woman,” he said, matter of factly, before slipping his hands out from under her, and dragging them up the curve of her thighs. The tension left, tossed to the flames, giddiness still bubbling in the pit of his gut and threatening to boil over onto his face. Her stomach and hips and heavy thighs all vied for his attention, marked with freckles and thin silver scars and soon blooming red roses planted with his mouth. Every touch and every caress earned a giggle or hooded smile in his direction, drawing him further in, and making his pride swell.

Vegeta had never been protective; never in his whole life had be thought about protecting anything other than himself but right now, with his face buried between her thighs, kissing the inside of her knees and trying not to laugh when she poked her tongue out at him, he would have done anything to keep Bulma safe. To keep her to himself.

“You’re such a jerk!” She moaned, trying to kick him again after he bit her a little too hard. He held her calves firm with a savage growl.

“Clearly it doesn’t bother you, or you wouldn’t be inviting me to your bed every other night,” he said, falling forward with a dramatic sigh until his chest was parallel with her hips. He kissed her stomach again, nose to her navel. This was his; to touch and to have at all hours of the night, and the day—

He looked up from under a heavy brow in silent questioning.

“I’m ok now,” she answered. “You can be such a gentleman when you aren’t acting a complete caveman.”

She instructed him, encouraged him, and crooned between her hushed groans and he fell into a rhythm. Her hands never left the back of his head for very long, her nails digging into his hair, guiding him to where he needed to be—not that he obeyed every instruction, and experiment was readily rewarded. Soon, she was panting, and his boxers had become a straight jacket. He adjusted himself, her knees hooked over his broad shoulders, her heels digging into his back.

“You’re—you’re good at this,” Bulma wheezed. She pawed at the sheets, digging her fingers into the mattress like she was falling through the bed. “H-hand.”

He blinked, frowning, but stuck out his free a hand, and she took it in a death grip. She forced her fingers to thread between his until their palms lay desperately flat against each other.

“I really like you,” she hissed, eyes closed.

He squeezed her hand back, and wasn’t at all bothered by the idea.

Eventually, she let go of his hand, but only after hours had passed, and the sheets became damp.

Bulma slid out from under the sheets, stretching, and he tilted his head to watch her stumble into the bathroom. She didn’t bother to close the door, and sat down with a loud ‘Oof!’

Vegeta’s jaw ached, and he reached up with a hand to figure out the cause and found he was grinning like a buffoon. He relaxed, and stretched in the bed, arching his back. He listened to her fussing in the bathroom, flushing the toilet, scrutinizing herself in front of the mirror, and was surprised by the simple joy of listening to her.

He eyed the piles of scrunched up dirty clothes and mismatched shoes scattered on the carpet, the papers and notebooks piled high on the desk and the still humming laptop shoved haphazardly onto the edge of her study chair. There  _ was  _ some sort of organization to her mess, in that she at least kept similar things in similar areas, and the fact he could now tell the difference between a pile of clean clothes on the floor and the pile of dirty ones irritatingly near the laundry basket told him he’d spent far too much time with her already.

“Don’t you ever clean up after yourself?” He asked.

She feigned an indignant gasp, spinning around near the mirror to glare at him. “How  _ dare _ you?” Soft red marks peppered her middle and her legs, and Vegeta didn’t bother to avert his gaze. “My room is my business, I clean up everything else! Including your dirty dishes and cups—!”

“You merely  _ deposit  _ them in the washing machine.”

She turned back to the mirror, raking a brush through her hair. “But I still have to  _ do _ it, don’t I?”

He laughed, and let it go. She could have that victory, he was more than happy to forfeit this time. She flicked the light off, and flopped back onto the bed. She kicked him under the blankets, until he lifted his arm expectantly, and she clambered across his chest.

Vegeta wound his arm around her, and she hugged him as tight as her frame allowed.

“Do you want to sleep together?” She asked into his breast bone.

He frowned. “What do you think we are doing?”

“No, I mean, even if we don’t do this; do you still want to sleep in the same bed together?”

He didn’t like to admit that the nights they shared together were the only times he could sleep unbothered. He adjusted himself, and found his hand settled on her waist. “I don’t see why not.”

She laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bulma has trauma. Don’t @ me.


	18. DAY 266

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot??? Plot????

_ It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine. _

Bulma adjusted her skirt in the mirror, smoothing it across her lap. It wasn’t a big affair, but her mother had a habit of blowing things out of proportion and downstairs she heard the boys whooping and hollering each time as another arrived. She went to open the door, and peeked in the mirror again. She put her hair up, and then back down, and up again, her mouth a narrow line.

Down.

She worked the scrunchie around her wrist; it could stay there for now.

She hadn’t heard anyone yelling just yet, so that meant Vegeta either hadn’t shown up, or had made good on his promise of blowing up the desert instead of Capsule Corp.

“Hey! It’s Bulma!” Krillin called when she thudded down the stairs. Every space on the kitchen bench and dining table had been taken up with decorated plates of food and vases bulging with flowers. Music played from the stereo, and a handful of men gathered in the living room, talking to each other. 

“Hey, hey!” She replied, trotting over to meet them. Krillin offered her an open beer can, and she took it a little too fast.

“Your mum has outdone herself this time,” Krillin announced, gesturing to the mountains of food, with Bunny Briefs wafting between them all in her frilly apron. “The food is amazing! I thought we were all just meeting up for drinks!”

“Ha, yeah, well, you’re not the only one,” Bulma muttered into her beer.

“Hey, B!” Someone clapped her shoulder, and she choked. Yamcha grinned at her, dressed in the Capsule Corp. sweatshirt she’d given him a few years ago. It still looked nice on him. “Where have you been all this time? We were starting to get worried!”

Bulma shrugged, tossing her hair. “Ah, you know me! Fashionably late as always!”

Vases of fresh cut flowers crowded on every surface not taken up by food, and Bulma worried that somehow, her small handful of friends might had grown into a hundred overnight without her noticing—but her eyes fell on a familiar, shaggy haired figure pouring a platter of salmon cakes into his mouth.

“ _ You! _ ”

“Oh! H-hey Bulma,” Goku replied, sheepishly. He brushed a few crumbs off his shirt, and set the plate down behind his back. “What’s u—?”

“ _ What’s up _ ?” She repeated, glaring up at him. “What’s  _ up  _ is that I haven’t heard from you in  _ months _ !”

Goku flushed, and scratched the back of his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry about that, Bulma. I-I’ve just been so busy trainin’ and all, but I’m here now!”

“Too busy to even just answer a call?”

“Bulma!”

She whipped around, saw no one, and adjusted her gaze. “Oh, Gohan! Look at you!” She knelt down, grabbing the sleeves of Gohan’s sensible little dress shirt. “Look how handsome you’ve become!”

He reddened, looking away, but his face twisted into a boyish smile. “Thank you, my mum picked it out.”

“I bet she did,” Bulma crooned, adjusting his collar. “How are you, little man?”

“I’m good! I’m studying hard and training hard too! Dad and Piccolo have been helping me,” he nodded to Goku standing awkwardly beside her, thick as an elm in more ways than one.

“Has he now?” Bulma asked, turning back to Goku. “Well, at least you have one alibi.” 

He shrank under her look, but offered a big, brown hand. “ Gee, I know I’ve been lousy, Bulma. I promise it’s for a good cause though.”

She took it, and he helped her up. “Yeah, yeah, saving the world and all, I get it. I just get stir crazy here by myself; you and I are close.”

Goku blinked, still holding her. “By yourself? B-but what about Vegeta?”

“Ha! Nah, living with Vegeta is just like having a roommate who is never around.”

“Oh, I—! I thought you would be friends!” Goku said.

A shrill, familiar voice cut through the talk. “Gohan! Do not eat another thing before tucking in a napkin, young man!” Gohan quailed, grabbing a napkin and stuffing it down the front of his shirt. Chi-Chi nodded, scowling, before she cracked and flattened his fringe with a loving hand. “We can’t forget our manners just because we’re with friends,” she said, gently.

“How have you two been?” Bulma asked, turning back to Goku.

He jumped, wringing his hands as he laughed. “Pretty good! Same as usual; Chi-Chi works us both pretty hard, but it’s good—I admire her work ethic,” he admitted, truthfully. He looked at her, brow creased, and that ever sweet smile on his face. “How are you doing? I heard about your break up.”

“Oh, did you now? From who?  _ Yamcha? _ ” She asked, nastily.

“Actually, your mum told me,” Goku replied.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want them to know,” he added with a hasty laugh. “I just thought you might like to talk about it.” Bulma leaned against the counter, sipping her beer. She offered it to him, and he declined with a little smile. “No thanks. Chi-Chi’s not a fan of me drinking in front of Gohan.”

Bulma pulled at the ring on the can until it came free, frowning. “It’s fine. We broke up ages ago. We’re still friends, it’s just awkward. It’s fine though, it needed to happen and we were both just putting it off.”

She watched Gohan squirm in Chi-Chi’s loving iron grip as she tucked in his shirt neatly, and rolled up his sleeves.

“And you and Vegeta?” Goku asked.

She shrugged. “Oh, fine, fine! He’s uptight, sure but—” she caught herself, eyeing Goku. “Why are you so interested? That’s the second time you’ve asked me about him. You can just go speak to him yourself if you’re so desperate to hear about him.”

“Oh! No, no, I don’t know! I guess I was just curious about how you were getting along! Together!” He blurted, slapping his chest with a hearty, false laugh. “Don’t think too deeply about it at all—!”

“Kakarot!”

Oh  _ no _ .

The sizzle in the air and the ache in her jaw told her who it was long before looked up and saw him. Vegeta stood hunched in the doorway to the patio, his face dirty, and his shirt torn. He straightened himself, his face flushed from exertion. “Let’s spar.  _ Now. _ ”

A few twigs stuck out from his hair, and Bulma wondered for a brief second what he’d been doing.

“Hey, Vegeta! Sure!”

“ _ No! _ ” Bulma threw herself in front of Goku like he was an oncoming freight train, blocking him with her body. “No, no, no, no! No fighting! Not here!”

“Aw, but Bulma, I haven’t had a good fight in forever!” Goku whined, making to move her aside.

“Woman, stop worrying about your stupid compound!” Vegeta growled, stalking forward, his fists ready. She tasted the iron on her tongue. “It isn’t going to be much of a fight anyway.”

In her peripheral, she saw Krillin and Yamcha put down their beers, and Piccolo edging his way along the wall towards them. Bulma elbowed Goku hard as she could, and her funny bone panged, but she managed to wrestle him back a step. The tension thickened, and the ki in the room grew to bursting— 

“Oh, Vegeta, sweetie, how nice of you to drop by!” Bunny floated in from around the kitchen bench, carrying a plate of freshly made macarons. “Care to try?” She asked, sweetly.

Vegeta lifted a hand, and Bulma prepared to launch herself at him, but he lowered it again.

“No,” he spat.

“Are you sure? Dear me, it’s not like you to refuse a meal,” she said, patting his arm. Bulma’s chest tightened, and she waited for Vegeta to turn around and break her but he flinched, and very carefully, shrugged her off.

“I’m  _ fine _ .”

Bulma abandoned Goku, sidling up to Vegeta with a too big smile. “ _ Vegeeeeta _ ,” she forced between clenched teeth. “Remember our little agreement re: no killing?”

“I remember, woman.” He shouldered past her. “It would be pointless to kill Kakarot right now before the androids arrive.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad you feel that way at least,” Goku said, brightly.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Krillin called, sidling up between them both. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves! Can’t we all just hang out and have some fun? Chill out for a bit, have a couple of beers?”

Vegeta wasn’t a tall man, but he still managed to loom, his presence filling the room like a cobra’s hood. “This will be fun for me,” he said, his tone icy.

“Ok, then maybe it should be outside, and not in the kitchen,” Yamcha suggested, reaching out to touch Vegeta’s shoulder, but thinking better of it. “Let’s take this outside.”

Bulma blocked the glass doors bodily, her arms outstretched. “No! No fighting! You all promised me  _ no _ fighting!”

“I promised no such thing,” Vegeta growled. He grabbed Goku by the front of his shirt, and dragged him towards the doors; and Bulma noticed with a groan that Goku wasn’t bothering to try and stop him. “Out of the way.”

“Goku! Don’t you dare fight in that good shirt!” Chi-Chi warned, looking up from her plate. “If you’re going to fight like boys then you are not ruining an expensive shirt that I ironed.”

“Alright!” Goku grinned.

Bulma shook her head, back pressed up against the glass. “No, no, no! You aren’t doing this in my yard!”

“Then I won’t  _ do it _ in your yard, woman, I’ll do it somewhere  _ else _ ,” Vegeta said. Almost gently, he swept her arm aside, and wrenched the glass doors open, throwing Goku out onto the patio like a rag doll.

Bulma went to storm after them, a shriek working itself up through her throat when someone quietly placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, and Piccolo frowned out at the yard, watching Goku laugh nervously as he attempted to neatly fold his removed shirt.

“Just let them get it out of their system,” he said, stoically. She thought she felt him squeeze. “They’ll tire themselves out eventually.”

“I don’t care if they need to work it out of their system! They’re not doing it in my y—!”

Outside, ki roared, and in a flash, four figures including Yamcha and Krillin, kicked off from the grass and into the air. Bulma stumbled out onto the patio, shielding her eyes against the sun. “Fuck you guys!” She screamed.

Piccolo appeared beside her again, arms folded. Gohan rushed out to meet her. “I should go too—!”

Piccolo grabbed the back of Gohan’s shirt, holding him in place. “No you won’t.”

“Gohan, you are not going after your father, understood? It’s not safe!” Chi-Chi called from inside the living room. She piled a few more prawns onto her plate, glaring down at the bowl. “If your father wants to go off and fight that’s his prerogative but you and I are here to be nice and socialise.”

“B-but mum—!”

“She’s right,” Piccolo replied, diplomatically. He let go of Gohan’s shirt, and fixed the collar for him quickly. “You’ll have plenty of time to fight later when it isn’t against Vegeta.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Goku can beat some sense into him.” Bulma blinked, she hadn’t even seen Tien step outside, but here he was, in green and gold monk attire. He squinted up at the sky. “I don’t know how you can keep someone like Vegeta in line, Bulma.”

Bulma stared into the blue, into the space where their kis vanished, heading over the mountains and towards the desert. A warm breeze whispered between the palms, and across her face, and she fought back angry, red tears.

“I don’t,” she said


	19. DAY 304

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ;)

Bulma dragged herself down the hallway towards the kitchen, feet heavy. One strap of her overalls hung loose off her shoulder, and the heavy gloves she’d stuffed into her pocket threatened to fall out as she wandered in from another almost all-nighter inside one of the latest ship prototypes.

She couldn’t be bothered flicking the light on, and felt her way across the counter until she found the fridge. Outside, only the most stubborn of West City’s lights remained on, the moon hanging bloated above the horizon and ready to sink.

Wrenching open the fridge door, Bulma squinted against the light, and shuddered. She tucked one arm around her middle while she scanned the contents of the shelves. After a long moment, she reached for the plastic container still half full of fried rice from the other night, and closed the fridge door with a yawn.

Her neck and back ached from being on the ground all day, or bending over. She stuffed the open container into the microwave, and closed the door, struggling to stop another yawn from taking over. The microwave hummed.

“What are you doing?”

She screamed, knocking the drying rack into the sink with a clatter.

A dark figure sat on a stool by the counter, hunched over a plate of miscellaneous food components. Bulma clutched at her chest, heart racing. She recognised that thick mane of hair.

“What are  _ you _ doing?” She asked, breathless.

Vegeta took a bite out of something, and it sounded an awful lot like a whole mango. “Did you become dense while I was gone?”

The microwaved beeped, and Bulma quickly opened the door and grabbed the still steaming container. “You’ve been gone for weeks.”

“Plenty of time to become dense,” he replied.

Bulma pulled the stool out, and took a tentative seat opposite him. She could make out his outline, and the wet of his eyes but not much else. She sat there, hands on the counter, staring at him in the dark, like some dark phantom finally revealed. She could smell him; his dried sweat, the dirt, and something like the ocean—

She wanted to ask him if he was ok, if he was alright or needed something, but the part of her brain that made her rude lit up instead: “dense? Me? What about you? Disappearing for a month without a word!”

“I was honing my skills and strength, woman, not that you would know anything about that,” he snarked, finishing the mango in two more bit bites. “You smell like shit,” he said, mouth full.

“That’s  _ you _ , actually!” Bulma replied, groping for the kitchen drawers for a fork.

Something touched her hand, and she jumped. Vegeta prodded her hand again, and she realised it was the end of a fork. She took it, and gulped in the black. She couldn’t help it anymore.

“What happened?” She asked.

Vegeta’s outline shrugged, the faint glow from West City just picking out the end of his nose and the cut of his jaw. She saw him take a bite out of a roll of salami. “I was defeated.”

She blinked, staring at him wide eyed. She wanted to touch him, just to remind herself how warm his skin was.

“Are you ok?”

“Hmph.”

“Why did you come back?”

He went silent, chewing. Sitting this close, she thought she could feel his breath on her hand, and the heat radiating off him in the cold kitchen. “I had need of your facilities again.”

Bulma cleared her throat. “I missed you.”

The kitchen tiles fell away, the dark growing suffocating.

“I didn’t.”

A fist grabbed the front of her shirt, yanking her down, and she was crouched in blue grass, a boiling green sky overhead. Vegeta lay crumpled in front of her, grasping at her shirt, his eyes wide and staring.

Hot blood stained her overalls, and bare arms, still slick and steaming. Vegeta coughed, and wheezed.

“Vegeta? V-Vegeta!” She grabbed both cheeks, turning his face to look at her, and his skin was ashen grey. “N-no, no, no! Vegeta, no, don’t do this!”

The hole in his chest leaked, blood pouring into the moist red clay, staining the grass. “I’m fine,” he hissed.

“No, you’re not!” She yelled, her hands slipping on his wet breast plate, struggling to plug the wound. “You’re not fine, you’re not  _ fine! _ ” The tears blurred her vision, and she blinked them away.

Vegeta shuddered, his eyes rolling.

“ _ Vegeta, don’t! _ ”

He let out a final, ragged sigh, the last of the air in his lungs forced out invisible hands. She screamed— 

A finger prodded her shoulder, hard, and she jolted.

Something covered her, holding her down, and she kicked it off gasping for breath. She ripped the sheets off her in a panic and paused. The lamp on her bedside table glowed, bathing the room in soft gold, and her digital clock on the nightstand ticked over to 3:05 AM.

“Move.” She didn’t, at first, so Vegeta repeated his order, louder, and clearer. “ _ Move. _ ”

She shuffled away from him, and he clambered into bed beside her, wearing a baggy Capsule Corp. shirt. He rolled over to face her, eyes closed and fixed in that ever present scowl. He lifted up his arm, and held it.

Bulma stared, chest still pounding, and her breathing shallow. Vegeta gave his arm an impatient shake, and grunted.

He’d been gone for days, and it showed.

Bulma forced down a gulp of air, and let it go. Slowly, she lay down again, facing him, her hands up under her cheek. His arm fell across her middle. She regarded him, his face scuffed and scratched, and a tiny bit of gauze taped to his cheek. His fingers flexed, and she felt them dig into her shirt.

“You’re here,” she croaked. She reached down and pinched the skin on the inside of her arm, and it stung. It really was him this time.

Eyes closed, Vegeta cocked a brow. “And you call yourself a scientist.”

The pillow moved, a boiling hand catching hers. Bulma bit her lip, rubbing her eyes. “I had a nightmare,” she said. She felt his thumb drag across the back of her hand. “Are you ok?”

He opened one eye. “Why would  _ I  _ not be ok?”

“You haven’t spoken to me since you got back.”

“I spoke to you this morning.”

“You gave a non-committal grunt, asshole.”

“I acknowledged your presence.”

An all too familiar tail wound around her middle, and up her shirt to brush her back. She shuddered, and wriggled out of the way, and into him more. He tightened his hold around her, and drew his tail back.

There was no point in asking what happened, Bulma already knew when he appeared in the yard, stumbling up towards the house like a dead man. He’d been beaten, and he had been out in the desert beating himself even further. He hadn’t even looked at her when he’d returned, pushing right by her and heading towards the nurses station.

“How did you know?” She asked in a low tone.

Vegeta’s glare went past her, beneath her skin and bone and to the core. “You’re loud, as always.” The hand at her back pressed into her lightly. “What dream?”

She swallowed. She wanted to touch his face. “I—I dreamt you died again—in my arms.”

His brow furrowed a little more, and he breathed deep. “How original,” he replied.

His hand moved in a lazy circle, gathering the fabric. She wanted him to hold her tighter.

“Back on Namek,” she said, hushed. “It was from when we were on Namek.”

“And we are not there now. Shut up and go to sleep.”

A weak smile worked itself across her mouth, and she nodded, mouth dry. She saw his tail snake out from under the covers and reach for the lamp and she cleared her throat. His tail paused. “Can you leave it on? Please?”

Eyes closed, he conceded with a sniff. She moved closer again, until she was almost flush against him. She watched him, closely, watching for any movement as she worked a leg over his to get comfortable. He didn’t seem to notice, or just didn’t care.

She could still see the blood though, trickling from the corners of his mouth, and across his breastplate. She had felt his spirit leave, in one last wheeze that brushed across her skin. He tightened his grip around her hand, under the pillow, and she was in the present again, her eyes heavy. Vegeta let out a low purr, the sheets moving. He pressed their crowns together, his nose just against hers, and she felt him take a deep breath.

“I’m here,” he murmured. He moved a little, and Bulma could have sworn it was almost a nuzzle, although she’d never say that outloud. “I need to be standing over you otherwise you don’t upgrade or repair the Gravity Room.”

She laughed. “I upgrade and repair it on time,  _ my _ time!”

“Yes, woman, however long that age might last,” he sighed, dreamily. “I need to be stronger, so I need the Gravity Chamber functioning more efficiently.”

Bulma rolled her eyes, and scoffed. He didn’t respond immediately, so she placed a hand to his face. She carefully ran a finger over the gauze on his cheek. “You’ll get there, you know,” she said, calmly. “You just have to be patient—I know you aren’t familiar with that idea but it’s when you wait for something to happen, instead of forcing it and ruining it.”

“I have been patient enough. I’ve tolerated all your excuses, your whining and your delays.”

“Now, listen here, _ mister _ , you’re acting like a spoilt brat!” She snapped, but her laugh gave her game away. “You didn’t have a thing when you arrived on this planet, and I’ve given you everything!”

“Spoilt? You’re the one who has had everything handed to you!” He barked back, but he was kissing her cheeks in that messy way of his. “I have worked tirelessly for years and pulled myself out of the muck of Frieza’s runts like a true Saiyan to earn my pride! You would do good to recognise it.”

She kissed him back, catching the corners of his mouth and forcing a smile to flicker across his face.

“Oh! You are such a jerk! You don’t think I work hard?”

Their laughter faded, and soon, she realised Vegeta was drifting off; his responses becoming slower, and his touches more clumsy, and sluggish. She kissed him for a while longer, his mouth only just responding and returning the favour, until finally she stretched in his grasp, spinning around. She backed up again, his chest following the curve of her spine.

Bulma lay there in fuzzy, ringing silence. She stared at the drawn blinds and in the low light, her eyes created patterns in the paint on the walls, imagining them moving. She heard a creak, some floorboard under the carpet expanding in the cool night, and somewhere, distantly, she thought she heard the tap dripping. Vegeta’s breathing was almost non-existent, and if it wasn’t for the feeling of his chest rising and falling up against her back, she could have sworn he was dea—

She hated admitting it, but she’d slept badly while he was gone. She found herself waking several times a night in a cold panic. If it wasn’t Namek, it was the rubble of the Gravity Room, if it wasn’t the staggering almost corpse she’d seen on Earth the first time, it was the shadowy figures of the androids, and an impending, unstoppable doom.

Bulma worked her arms out from under his, and reached for her phone on the bedside table. 

Vegeta settled in his sleep, face in her neck, and Bulma scrolled through her phone idly. The sweat formed along her back where they touched, but she’d gotten used to that, it was just one of the hazards that came with sleeping with a Saiyan—along with the shedding.

She flicked between emails, eyes aching, Vegeta’s big warm hand resting just against her chest, enough for her to feel her heartbeat against it. He held her like she held him after bad dreams.

“Do you never fucking rest, Bulma?”

She started at the sound of his voice, reverberating between his ribs. She tried to look over her shoulder at him, but she couldn’t. His fingers dug into the sheets in front of her, his arm flexing around her like worked steel—

“Oh, you’re awake?” She asked, ears hot.

He inhaled, and his face returned to the space between her shoulder and neck. “Hmph.”

“I’m just having a quick look at some work stuff.”

He pulled at the sheets. “It’s _ late. _ ”

“I know, I can’t sleep.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

She kicked him, but continued skimming the next few paragraphs of an email from the board.

“Put it down or I’ll break it,” he growled, finally.

Bulma gave her usual snort, and kept scrolling. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Quick as sparks his hand shot out, grabbed the screen, and squeezed.

“No, no, no! Vegeta, don’t! Ok! I’ll put it away, sheesh!”

“What a clever woman you are,” he crooned, kissing the back of her neck lazily. He pried her hands free with a thumb, and tossed her phone to the end of the bed where she couldn’t reach. “You’re both intelligent  _ and _ wise.”

“Ugh. I already know that, thank you very mu—!”

He jabbed her side, not hard, but enough to make her lash out and writhe on the spot. She snarled, kicking backwards like a horse, but her feet connected with solid granite. “Vegeta! Don’t you dare fucking  _ kidney shock me! _ ”

He uttered some wicked snigger, before kissing her, rubbing her side gently. “I think I’ll do as I please, woman,” he replied, his caress becoming a fraction firmer. “I have a long day planned being useful to your planet’s survival tomorrow, and I can’t afford to be kept awake by your bad habits.”

“Ugh! That’s a cheap shot and you know it!” Bulma grabbed the pillow and wrenched it under her cheek, but loaded up another round of ammunition. “I have a long day planned too and I’m not going to postpone getting a head start because you want to cuddle.”

That did it.

“Shut up! Th-that isn’t what I’m doing!” He steamed. “You are the one who told me you wanted to sleep together more, and I’m trying to sleep!”

“Oh, sleeping together?” She laughed. “Are you sure you weren’t thinking of a little more than that when you crawled in here?”

“Be quiet! You’re insufferable like this!”

“God, I’ve missed you.”

Vegeta went silent. She pulled his hand up close, towards her mouth, and hugged it with a long sigh she felt through her whole frame. “I really missed you while you were gone.”

He didn’t answer, but didn’t pull away from her. She kissed his hand, pressing her thumbs into his palm, tracing the lines and toughened skin below his fingers. 

“W-why?” He asked, dumbly.

She almost threw his hand down. “What the fuck do you mean ‘ _ why _ ’? Why do you think? I missed having someone around, I missed having someone to talk to, I missed having our stupid fights!”

His hand moved in hers, twisting, and holding her with an uncertain gentleness. He cleared his throat, but no words came out. She ran her finger along the lines of his hand and noted, dully, he only had a single palmar crease. 

“I needed time,” he said, voice stiff.

“I know,” she replied, kissing his palm again. “I know you did.”

Why  _ did _ she miss him? She hugged him a little tighter, and she felt him breathe gently into her neck. 

Why did it upset her so much that he was gone? 

She paused, her breath catching. It had been so slow, she hadn’t realised. Creeping up on her like the boiling water that kills the frog. Something soft whispered against the back of her neck, with scalding breath spilling down her spine in the gentlest kiss. Vegeta breathed out, and she felt him slip off into sleep again—

“Oh, shit,” she murmured.


	20. DAY 315

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wish fulfilment for the idiot inside me

Bulma pulled her ear phones out roughly, frowning. Filtering down the hallway, clear as church bells was Bunny Brief’s famous laugh. Bulma kicked her study chair out from under the desk just as Bunny appeared in the doorway, her face a rare shade of pink and her eyes watering.

“What is it?” Bulma asked.

Bunny shook her head, waving her hand, red nails flashing. She straightened up, but started laughing again, wiping her eyes.

“Mum, what  _ is _ it?”

“It’s—oh, dear, you have to come look,” Bunny said. She pushed a curl from her face, tucking it back behind her ear with another wave of laughter. “Bulma, sweetie—you have to see this.”

Bulma’s frown grew, and she closed her laptop. Bunny took hold of her wrist, other hand still trying to almost stuff her laughter down physically. Whatever it was that had set her off, it must have been good, because Bunny rarely cracked quite like this. She let Bunny drag her down the hall, towards the kitchen and lounge room.

Despite the grey skies, it was bright outside, the flower beds filled with winter bulbs, pansies and daffodils, and the tall palms looking out of place among the bare trees. The dishwasher whirred, and the kitchen smelled of something warm and sweet. Bunny deliberately pulled Bulma towards the kitchen and the benches, gesturing to the sink filled with mixing bowls and measuring cups.

“See?” Bunny said, her giggle still coming through her words. She picked up an empty baking tray, lined with paper, and a chocolatey crumbs. “ _ See? _ ”

“You baked something chocolate?” Bulma hazarded.

Bunny’s smile grew, and she lowered the baking tray, nodding. “Oh, oh yes! I baked up the most delightful batch of brownies, dear, but as you can see, the entire pan is—”

“Gone.” Bulma looked around, eyes narrowed. “And where’s the main suspect?” She asked.

Bunny set the tray down, and started laughing again with a snort. “Oh, not far, sweetie, criminals often return to the scene of the crime! Oh, dear, dear me, he is going to be feeling unwell after this.”

“Why?”

Bunny’s eyes twinkled, and she leaned in with a smile. “Well, it’s been a while since I baked something wicked.”

“Oh, mum! You didn’t!”

“I did!” Bunny replied, gleefully. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t have any fun! And I had just finished up and took the tray out of the oven to cool and I suppose I must have left them unsupervised for too long…”

“Oh,  _ mum _ !”

“I thought he was training! He’s so dedicated and hardworking, I didn’t think he took breaks!”

“Where is he? He’s going to be wrecked!”

Bunny pointed to the lounge, still smiling, and Bulma crossed the room in an instant.

There had been plenty of times when she’d felt pity for Vegeta; when she’d felt sympathetic and sad for him and the horrors he’d endured and the atrocities he had lived through, and potentially committed, but it was nothing compared to full blown commiseration she felt seeing him splayed face down across half the lounge.

She dropped to her knees beside him, trying to see his face. “Vegeta! Vegeta, hey! It’s me, look at me.”

He didn’t move at first, and for a terrifying moment, she thought he was dead—until he let out a shuddering groan.

“Oh, buddy,” she laughed, despite herself. “Your eyes were bigger than your stomach, huh?”

Vegeta turned his head, achingly slow, dragging his cheek across the lounge. “ _ You _ ,” he mumbled. “What is—? You drugged me.”

“I didn’t drug you, but you did just eat a bunch of vitamin weed.”

He went to push himself up, but seemed to get distracted by the texture of the lounge, and pushed his arms up under the cushions with another, sickly moan. Bulma reached out, and rubbed his shoulder. “Alright, big boy, let’s get you off the floor at least.”

In the kitchen, Bunny hid her chuckle by turning the tap on and busying herself with the sink.

Bulma hooked her hands under his armpits, and heaved. He sat up, bleary eyed, and she tried not to laugh too; of all the things she’d nursed him for over the months, this was going to be the funniest. She managed to get him to his feet, and he wobbled on the spot, swaying. He shook her hand from his shoulders, and almost toppled over again. He stubbornly tried to move around the lounge, arms out, legs weak, stumbling over the ottoman and across the carpet with all the uncertainty of a newborn deer.

Bulma came to his side again, and took his arm, turning slightly so that her body blocked Bunny’s view. “Ok, you are going off to bed, and then I’m going to get you something.”

He stared at her, puzzling out her words. “Get me what?” He asked, finally.

“Food.”

His face lit up, and this time the dam walls broke and Bulma burst out laughing. She took his wrist, and dragged him to the stairs. The moment they were out of sight of the main kitchen Vegeta leaned against her desperately, gripping her arm a little too tight. He turned to her, pale faced, and she helped him up the last few stairs with a smile.

“Well, you won’t make that mistake twice,” Bulma said, easing his bedroom door open.

“Wh-why would you fools make such a concoction?” He husked.

Bulma pushed him down on the edge of the bed, already pulling out her phone. “I didn’t make it, mum did—I could never bake a good batch, and I prefer smoking anyway.”

“What?”

“Are you thirsty?” She asked, pulling up the delivery app and selecting the first restaurant available. Vegeta nodded, hand to his mouth with a frown. “Yeah, it’ll feel weird to talk for a bit, don’t worry. I’m going to look after you.”

“I don’t need to be ‘looked after’,” he began, but Bulma placed her hand on his head, scrolling down the menu selection.

“Oh, yes you do, and believe me, you won’t want anyone else doing it. Now, just sit still and be quiet for a second while I do this, then I’ll get you something to drink and keep you company.”

“How long will this last?” Vegeta asked. He didn’t bother to try and shake her hand off.

Bulma shrugged. “Buddy, you ate a whole tray of Bunny Briefs’ secret recipe and I don’t know how Saiyans metabolise something like THC. I’m surprised you aren’t just passed out on the floor right now.” She typed in the address, and hit Submit. “Alright, food is on it’s way—let’s get you comfortable.”

Of all the things that could have happened while keeping an alien with planet destroying capabilities and the shortest fuse on universal record under her roof, getting him a glass of water and watching him struggle with finding his own mouth was something Bulma had never considered.

She sat on the bed next to him, and he grasped the comforter in white knuckled fists. “You’re going to be alright, in fact, probably in two hours you’ll be fine and the best mood you’ve ever been in—just right now it’s a lot.”

Vegeta stared into empty space, jaw set. He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, and missed.

“You’ll tell me if you start to feel sick, won’t you?” Bulma prompted. He nodded again. Bulma leaned over, and picked up the glass for him, placing it in his hands. “You’ll start to feel a lot better when you get some food into you as well.”

“I’m famished.”

“I’m not surprised!” Bulma grinned, patting his knee fondly, announcing, “alright, now, stay put, I’ll be right back.”

Bulma filled his glass again in the ensuite, placing it down beside him before slipping out the door. She trotted down the stairs again into the kitchen, and found Bunny leaning up against the kitchen counter still faintly smiling. She looked up when Bulma jumped the last stair, and lowered her glass of wine. “How is the poor young man?” She asked, sweetly.

Bulma fixed her with a stern look, hand on hip. “You shouldn’t have just left it out like that! You know what he’s like!”

Bunny placed a free hand to her cheek, shaking her head. “Oh, deary me, it’s that bad, is it? Oh, my! Vegeta won’t know what to do with himself.”

“The ‘poor young man’ is currently lying catatonic in bed, looking like he’s about to eat the furniture!” Bulma hissed. “I almost think you did that on purpose!”

“On purpose? Oh, no! Bulma, sweetie, I’d never do that!” Bunny said with an unconvincing gleam to her eye. “But it is rather funny, isn’t it?”

“Ugh!”

“You aren’t going to join him?”

Bulma shook her head, drawing her index finger up dangerously. “ _ Mother. _ ”

“You and Yamcha used to have so much fun together like that; it was very sweet—!”

“Don’t  _ go _ there!” Bulma growled, storming into the walk in pantry. Containers lined the shelves, neatly marked and stacked away, and Bulma swept up a bundle of crackers and nuts into her arms. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t like him but if you keep trying to push him, he could kill us all!”

“Oh, Vegeta? He wouldn’t do that! He’s such a lovely, polite young man!”

“Are we talking about the same person?” Bulma ducked out of the pantry, laden with snacks. Bunny moved, sliding something across the bench top and Bulma paused. “Mother!”

“What?”

“I  _ quit  _ smoking!”

“Quit cigarettes.”

Bulma threw back her head, moaning. “Mum! You’re not meant to offer your children drugs! That’s parenting 101!”

“Oh, hum! We’re both adults, Bulma, sweetie,” Bunny explained, pushing the pipe a few inches closer. With a snarl, Bulma snatched it up.

“I don’t want to hear anything else about this!” Bulma grumbled, shuffling the boxes around in her arms to shove the pipe deep into her pocket. “There’s a bunch of delivery coming because that’s the only thing that will make him feel better so when eight drivers arrive can you please just not make a big fuss about it?”

Bunny laughed lightly. “Oh my, he must be very upset.”

Bulma thundered down the hall, her mother’s laughter echoing. Shouldering open Vegeta’s door, she found him where she’d left him, spreadeagled on the bed, his face down on the pillow. She dumped the boxes near the end of the bed, and he didn’t react. She hesitated by the door, agonising over the decision before she rushed to her room, and back again, her pockets bulging.

“Are you still ok?” She asked when she returned. He didn’t respond, so she took hold of his tail and squeezed gently. He snarled, and she let go. “Well, if you didn’t want me to pull it you should have answered.”

He moved, leg bumping a packet of animal crackers. “What’s this?” He asked, voice thick.

“Snacks.”

He spoke directly into the pillow. “I thought you were ordering food?”

“I am, but this is to tide you over until it arrives.”

“ _ Hrrgh _ .”

“Alright, now, move, big guy,” she puffed, shouldering Vegeta aside. He grumbled, but rolled over enough for her to fit. Bulma fished out the lighter from her pocket, holding the pipe precariously overhead.

“What are you doing?” Vegeta managed, lifting his chin to leer at her.

Bulma leaned over the edge of the bed, and flicked the lighter. “Shut up,” she said, before putting the pipe to her mouth and breathing in.

Vegeta moved, pushing himself up onto his elbows and glaring at her with red rimmed eyes, and sniffed. “Are you serious, woman? In my bed?”

Bulma coughed, turning her head away from him to breathe out. “Yeah, well, you never open your windows and I said I wasn’t going to leave you like this.”

“This smells even more foul than your normal vice, what’s  _ in _ that?” Vegeta heaved, eyes watering.

Bulma plucked a tissue from the box on the stand, and thrust it up under his nose. “The smokeable version of all those brownies you ate, mister.”

The look he gave her was one that she could only describe as “weed-y”, narrow eyed and questioning as his brain pulled together several concepts and eventually formed a realisation. He sat up, wobbling. “You do this on  _ purpose _ ? What the hell for?”

Bulma took another hit, holding her breath. She placed the pipe and lighter down, letting out a long trail of smoke. “Because, if you don’t too much, it calms you down and makes you feel good. I do it because I can’t sleep at night sometimes, and I have a stressful spaceship engineering job as well as a full time adult babysitting gig.”

Thirty seconds passed in silence before Vegeta realised she was talking about him. “Do you really think you can say that to me and get away with it? That… that  _ complacency  _ could get you killed, don’t forget who I am—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, uh-huh! Okay, now! Let’s cuddle.”

“What? No! You rotten, vile woman! You feel like you can say just whatever you want to me! I’ve been too soft on you—!”

“You have! Now I’m spoilt, so come here!” She wriggled down into the pillows, up against his shoulder, her arms open in a welcoming embrace. Vegeta grumbled again, and must have decided that getting up was going to be more exhausting than putting up with her, because he settled back onto the covers, and let her clamp an arm around his shoulder.

“Roleplay!” Bulma announced, her head going fuzzy already. “You have to go along with it because you’re trapped now!”

“Be quiet.”

“ _ Uh-oh! _ ” She started. “The hotel messed up our booking and instead of two single beds we’ve been given one sensible queen bed for the night, oh  _ noo _ !”

“What the hell are you talking about? Bulma, shut up,” Vegeta moaned, burying his face into the pillow.

Bulma pulled herself around him, hooking a mean knee over his side, and curling into his chest. Her eyes grew heavier with every passing second, and her mouth going bone dry. Vegeta refused to engage at first, fists thrust firmly under the pillow and lying face down to prevent even accidentally glancing in her direction, but after a long minute, he rolled over just enough to face her.

“Hiya,” she said, fighting back a giggle. His frown twisted, and she saw his lip twitch. “Are you trying not to smile?”

“Be  _ quiet _ ,” he growled, but she heard the tail end of a grin to his words.

“Uh- _ oh _ !” She began again, shuffling closer, enough for her to almost disappear into his hair. “Don’t tell me the Prince of all Saiyans is daring to have a good time!”

“I’m not having a ‘good time’!” He barked, but his composure slipped further. “Stop being silly.”

Bulma choked on her cackle. “ _ Silly _ ?” She cried. “Oh my god, of all the words you could have used, you chose ‘ _ silly _ ’?”

“Hrgh, woman—! Woman, stop this at once!” He ordered, but he was laughing too. He went to push her away, hands in her face, and she grabbed them. “What are you d—? That’s revolting!”

“Don’t put your hands near my face then!” She grimaced; God, his hands were disgusting, why did she lick them to make him stop? “I’m not afraid to fight dirty!”

“You can’t fight at all!”

She kneed him hard in the stomach, and he coughed, but glared. “Another stunt like that and I’ll—!” He started, but trailed off laughing again. She’d heard him laugh plenty of times, mostly with malicious undertones, but listening to him now, almost on the verge of tears, his face red, she could hardly believe this was real.

She rolled over, onto her back, staring up at the stars plastered across the ceiling. She squinted. “Did you move these?” She asked. Her head swam.

Vegeta’s laugh trailed away to a sound she’d never heard before, and she realised it was him stifling what could almost be called a giggle. “Wh-what? What now?” He asked.

She thrust her hand out, pointing to the ceiling, brimming with $2 plastic stars. “Did you move them? They look different for some reason.”

He rolled over beside her, shoulder against hers. He squinted, still smiling. “Oh? Those things? As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Oh, a  _ fact _ , is it?”

He elbowed her, but it was very light. “Yes, that’s why I said it,” he replied. “Your previous arrangement wasn’t—didn’t—make sense. I changed it.”

She tilted her head in his direction, enough to see how lax his expression had become, and how heavy his eyes were. If she were a meaner woman, she would have done her best to take a photo of him right now, and send it to everyone because this was never going to happen again, but instead she rested her temple against his shoulder, peering up at the stars.

“How did you arrange them?” She asked.

He frowned. “I stood on the bed.”

“No!” She found herself laughing again, mouth dry. She reached down between them and managed to hook a finger on the edge of a box of wafers, hauling them up onto her chest. “No! I meant, what did you arrange them in? Like, what do they represent now?”

She struggled a bit with the box, fumbling with the cardboard tab, and Vegeta’s big tanned paw slammed on top of hers, ripping the box two. “My stars,” he said, simply, grabbing a handful of wafers and shoving them into his mouth.

“From your planet?”

“Where else?” He asked, crumbs flying. He coughed, spluttering, and Bulma hauled herself up to get him another glass of water. “I don’t remember them all—I left the surface when I was a boy.”

He lunged for the glass of water the moment she came within range. Bulma doubled over with another fit of giggles, and Vegeta wiped his mouth to cover up a growing smile. “S-shut up! Shut  _ up! _ Stop laughing!”

“I can’t!” She cried, dragging her hands down her face. She sank to her knees, half draped across the bed. “I can’t, you’re just funny! You’re just really, really funny!”

Vegeta dragged himself closer to her, lying on his stomach. “I am not  _ funny! _ If there is anyone who is  _ funny _ here, it’s you!”

“That’s a good thing!” She laughed. She lifted her head, and they were only a few inches apart. “You are absolutely plastered.”

“You don’t look so good yourself either, wretched little shrew.”

“Little? How dare you! We’re the same height! In fact, if you didn’t have five feet of hair I’d be taller than you!”

He reached out, grabbing her unprotected hand. “Look!” He said. He made a point of awkwardly squishing their palms together, a few stray fingers threading between hers. “Look here, if you’re so blind, I’m  _ bigger _ .”

Bulma cackled again, holding his hand tight. She found herself staring at him, her eyes focusing on details that she barely noticed normally; the wrinkles around his eyes, a tiny scar above his brow, and the hint of five o’clock shadow on his chin. She really did have a soft spot for this stupid little goblin; more than that, she really did like him—his frown cracked, and he smiled, looking away again. 

At some point, the food arrived, Bulma hauling herself up off the floor to stumble half way downstairs to find Bunny rushing up with dozens of brown paper bags. She insisted on helping Bulma carry them, to just help her put them in Vegeta’s room for her, but Bulma could see through that saccharine charm.

“You’ve done enough!” Bulma hissed finally, much to Bunny’s amusement.

Bulma dumped all the bags on Vegeta’s bed, or the floor, and he had managed to sit up against the headboard, with a rapidly growing pile of empty containers beside him. The colour had come back into his face, and while his eyes were still hooded, he looked and sounded brighter.

“My wet nurse explained the constellations to me,” he said, emptying a container of five dumplings directly into his mouth. “She was a hard woman, but she at least taught me well—she raised me mostly, well until it was decided I was strong enough to train with Nappa.”

“What about your dad?” Bulma asked, sitting cross legged on the floor.

Vegeta snorted. “What about him?”

“I dunno.”

“King Vegeta had other more important things to attend to. He was the greatest military leader of the age until he fell under Frieza’s heel—he wasn’t swayed by such foolish sentimentality. I admire him for that.”

Bulma watched him, he never really spoke about his past at great length, and when he did, it was the vaguest suggestion that something might have happened to him. She knew some things, and she could piece together others, but it seemed that Bunny Briefs’ famous chocolate slab was making Vegeta’s tongue loose.

“You admired him for not being sentimental?” Bulma asked.

Vegeta nodded, ripping into a pork bun like he was a sea otter. “He didn’t let such foolishness distract him. Raditz was being swayed all the time by it; his mother used to coddle him as a child and it showed—but the lower class were prone to that sort of behaviour, that’s why they made such poor warriors.”

Bulma listened in silence, digging at her plastic container of pasta. “Can I tell you something?” She started.

“Fine, as long as it’s important and not a waste of breath,” Vegeta replied.

“In ancient Greece—like, several thousand years ago—there was a city state called Sparta which was unique because their entire society was configured to maximise military proficiency, where children were raised from birth to be warriors, and they became very famous for their military prowess.”

“Good,” Vegeta said, simply. “This sounds interesting.”

“Yeah, I imagine it does sound good to you. The society was split between Spartan citizens, foreigners raised as Spartans, slaves, and people who couldn’t fight and just provided food or labour for Spartans. Full blood Spartan boys could stay with their mothers when they were little, then they were taken into the military and trained until they became the fabled Spartan warriors who couldn’t be defeated.”

“And what happened to these great warriors? I certainly didn’t see anything like that when I landed on this planet and this is the first time I have ever heard about it—”

“Well, that’s just it. It wasn’t viable. They lost more and more because they refused to change, and refused to engage with other cultures, so they stagnated. The very thing that made them so strong, the strict regime all geared towards military, eventually became their downfall when they could not longer adapt to the world changing around them.”

Vegeta paused, fork halfway to his mouth, frowning into open space. “And what happened to them?”

“They died faster than they could be replaced, and the history moved on without them. All that abuse, all that pain, and all those victories for nothing,” Bulma said, quietly. She clicked the lid on top of her half empty pasta container. She didn’t feel like eating much now. “Now they exist just as a historical curiosity.”

Vegeta sat in silence, hunched over the meal in his lap. His frown deepened, and she saw his throat bob. “To be expected of such a weak race, I suppose,” he said, but his voice was hollow.

Bulma cleared her throat, and pressed a little further than she knew was safe. “When I think about Sparta, it’s hard not to think about how awful it must have been. Little boys removed from their home, abused, beaten, and broken until there was nothing left and they could be moulded into perfect warriors. They didn’t know how to do anything else, and there  _ wasn’t  _ anything else, as far as they knew.”

Vegeta continued frowning, glaring down at the container in his lap. With a grunt, Bulma got to her feet, and swept aside the empty plastic containers and bags from his bed, taking a seat beside him. He didn’t protest when she leaned against his shoulder, and placed a hand to his back.

“Can you tell me what the constellations are?” She asked, quietly.

“What does it matter?”

She smiled, resting her ear against his shoulder to look up at the ceiling. “What’s that one?”

He turned his head slightly, and she felt his cheek against her hair. He spoke quietly, “what one?”

Bulma pointed. “That one there; the five stars in a crooked line.”

The conversation continued, and Vegeta seemed to forget what she had said, or rather, chose to ignore it. He explained the stars, the stories behind them, and how they came to be, always admitting, or rather, reminding her, that they were just stories, and the stars weren’t really the scattered bits and pieces from the arrival of the first Great Ape, as if it wasn’t apparent.

He’d spent only a fraction of his life on the planet surface, and even then, it wasn’t really the planet that his people even came from. All he knew were the stories that other people told him, and the pride they told him to feel as well—she wondered just how much of that pride was real, and how much had been planted. She took hold of his hand while he talked, and when he’d finished demolishing the last of the delivery, he spoke again. “When will this wear off?” He asked after a long time.

“Huh?”

“This.” He gestured to his face, which was still pretty ‘weed-y’.

Bulma chuckled, squeezing his hand. “A few hours. You’ll be fine tomorrow for sure.”

“Hmph. Good.”

“I guess this will teach you to think twice about eating random, unattended food, huh?” Bulma asked with a grin.

Vegeta growled, but he settled back against the headboard, tucking his free arm across his chest. “It was your own fault for leaving it out, how was I supposed to know?”

They lay together, and Vegeta didn’t seem to care when she curled into him again, eyes closed. She blinked, and the world winked out.

* * *

 


	21. DAY 334

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUH!

The worst thing imaginable happened, and Bulma sat on the stairs, fingering the casing of her phone. She glanced down at the screen again, the Son household landline flashing. She rubbed her eyes, and pulled at the loose skin under her eyes. Swallowing her pride, she pressed call, and shoved the phone to her ear.

A little voice answered. “Son family! This is Gohan speaking!”

Bulma laughed, her eyes still red. “Hey there little man!” She grinned . “This is the first time I’ve ever heard you answer the phone!”

“Bulma! Hi! Y-yeah my mum told me I’m old enough to answer it myself,” he replied, carefully. “Did you want to talk to her?”

Bulma shook her head, clearing her throat. “Uh, no, no, that’s ok—I was actually hoping to catch your dad, is he around?”

“I’ll check.” A hand covered the receiver, but she could still hear Gohan tentatively call out. “Dad? Bulma’s on the phone!”

In the lull, the kitchen felt much bigger, and lonelier. Sitting on the stairs, Bulma surveyed the pristine dining table, and carefully stacked drying rack, filled with glistening pots and crockery. Winter flowers sagged in the vase on the coffee table, and the backyard was deafeningly quiet.

There was shuffling on the other end of the phone, and Goku spoke, “Bulma! What’s up?”

“Hey! Hey, oh, you know, the usual, just work!” Bulma replied. The faux smile made her cheeks ache, and she quickly dropped it.

“ _ Huh. _ ”

“What?”

“I mean, if everything is the usual, then you wouldn’t be callin’ me,” Goku said. She heard him moving around, and maybe a door shut. “What’s really up?”

“Well, I don’t like admitting it,” she started, pulling a loose thread on her sleeve. She tried not gulp too loudly. “I, uh… You’re one of my oldest friends, and I trust you. I wanted some advice, and someone to talk to.”

“Oh! Alright, one second—!”

“What are you doing—?”

Space and time cracked at the seams and rebuilt it self in an instant with a resounding  _ POP _ , and suddenly, Goku stood over her, lowering his hand. He blinked, looking around, before adjusting his gaze and seeing her hunched over on the stairs. “There you are!”

“Jesus, that freaks me out!” Bulma breathed. She hung up, and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. She went to stand but Goku dropped to the ground, his knees crossed like a big child. Even sitting and two stairs below her, he could still look her in the eye.

He grinned, and she saw the dough faced little boy from the woods all over again. “What’s up?” He asked again.

Bulma collected herself, her mouth thinning. She made an effort to not clench her jaw, and to lower her shoulders, but she still felt as if every bone was about to break from the tension. “I think…” she began, looking down at the floor. “I’ve made a really big mistake.”

“Huh? Mistake? You never make mistakes, that’s why you’re so smart!”

“Well I made a big mistake this time!” She snapped. Goku paled, and she reeled herself back in. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just—this has been eating away at me for God only knows how long and I’m almost at breaking point.”

Goku leaned in. Dirt and grass still stained the knees of his gi, and the sweat patches around his chest and arms were still damp. “Whatever it was, I bet it wasn’t all that bad.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Wanna bet?” His gentle expression didn’t change, and she prepared herself. “Don’t freak out, ok, I’ve already freaked out enough myself. The thing is—ok, please, I mean it when I say  _ don’t freak out _ , and don’t judge me either—I… oh, man, here we go, I think I might… be in love with... Vegeta.”

“Cool.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“Cool!”

Bulma gaped. “Ok, well, it isn’t cool.”

“Huh? Why not?”

Somewhere in the kitchen, the tap dripped, breaking the silence. Bulma collected herself, and picked up her jaw. “He tried to kill you! He tried to kill everyone! And also have you  _ seen him? _ ”

Goku shrugged his broad shoulders. “I mean, I guess, but I don’t really mind. He’s changed! 

“H-he tried to kill your son! He almost  _ did _ !”

“Aw, but he wouldn’t do that  _ now _ , I don’t think,” Goku posited, rubbing his chin. He turned back to her, beaming. “Where’s he now, anyway? I can’t hear the Gravity Room and I can’t feel him around.”

Bulma shook her head, her hands cold. “I—I don’t know, he took off, again. He’s been leaving more and more.” Out the window, finches hopped along the patio despite the crisp weather, pecking away at the grout looking for bugs. He’d been gone for a few days now, which wouldn’t have bothered her normally, but he usually vanished for a reason; a fight, or arguement or tantrum but this time he’d left quietly, in the middle of the night, with no explanation. He’d stolen the ship prototype too, but she wouldn’t tell Goku that.

Goku’s grin dulled. “Oh… that’s not good.”

“I’m sure he’s fine—I thought you’d be surprised!” Bulma blustered, grabbing the bannister and pulling herself up. “Like, we’re  _ always _ fighting—!”

“Yeah! I know!” Goku laughed, lightly. He jumped to his feet, offering her a worn, tan hand. “You guys fight like nothing else! I’ll admit, it’s impressive! It’s a good thing you don’t have ki!”

She went to take his hand, and paused. “Th-they weren’t really…  _ real _ fights.”

Goku took her hand for her, grin growing. “Yeah, I _ know _ . You guys fight for the same reason I do, because it’s fun! It’s fun to test yourself against a worthy opponent!”

She let him help her down the last two stairs, until she was standing in front of him, throat still far too tight. She looked up at him; a big mess of wild black hair and an even bigger smile that welcomed anything and everything. Her eyes watered. “How are you so dense and so wise at the same time?” She asked, sniffing.

“Dense? I mean, yeah I guess I am pretty solid! Chi-Chi’s been making so much food since I got back!”

Tears gave way to an obnoxious snort, and Bulma bent double laughing. Goku placed a hand to her back when she started coughing, and spitting. She wiped her eyes again, and pushed him over towards the lounge room. She sat him down onto a chair, and she dragged the foot stool over to sit on.

The cat clock ticked on the wall, the tail swaying with each passing second. She’d walked in on Vegeta staring at it pensively once.

“Ok, well, hopefully you can give me some advice—I trust you not to tell anyone.” She grimaced. “And not to be angry with me.”

“Angry? What? No way! W-well I mean, Chi-Chi wouldn’t be happy with it, and maybe Tien… Oh, Yamcha would be really upset but I don’t know about ang—!”

“I get the  _ point _ , Goku, very few people would approve!”

“B-but I like Vegeta! I’m sure he’s a nice guy when you get to know him!” His grin cracked at the seams a little, and Bulma laughed again, waving her hand.

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Just tolerating him is enough for me right now.”

Goku leaned forward. “I don’t know how good it’ll be but, what do you want advice on?”

Bulma’s hands returned to her sleeves, and she started unravelling the threads from the hem with a scowl. She worked the question that had been on her mind for days into words. “Am I stupid for this?”

“For what?”

“Feeling this way, come on, keep up!”

“You’re the smartest person I know, like I said, you never make mistakes!” He laughed again, hearty and deep in his chest, before turning to her. “And I don’t think this counts as one.”

Bulma took in a deep breath, holding it, staring down at the plush carpet. Outside a light drizzle ran down the windows, the sky a mottled grey. West City’s highest towers and roads vanished in and out of shifting haze. When he’d gone, she’d flicked through every news channel and website dreading finding a story about a levelled city, or hundreds killed, but she never found one. Bulma rolled her sleeves up to stop herself from ruining them any further.

“You’re very sweet,” she said. “But—Goku, even at the best of times this is a tricky situation.  _ ‘The guy who killed your ex that one time now speaks to you every day, and also he’s an alien who doesn’t understand social norms!’ _ You know, he just… I don’t know if it’s right for me to do this to him.”

“Huh? You’re making it sound like you think this will hurt him!”

“I-it might! No, it  _ would _ . His ego couldn’t take it, he would rather die than hear me tell him! He wants to be hated, and to be feared because that’s all he’s ever known and it's what he’s comfortable with—I just—I don’t feel either of those things about him.”

“What? Why would Vegeta want to be hated? That makes no sense.”

Bulma rubbed her eyes again, dragging her hands across her mouth and bringing them together in almost prayer. “Goku, if you had been taken from your family as a child, and raised by a tyrant to be a mercenary, you have to be the toughest, nastiest, shittiest person to survive. Vegeta thinks he knows what he is, and if he deviates from it—well, I don’t know what he thinks will happen, but it’s bad enough that he might die of shame.”

Goku listened, frowning, and she saw him turning it all over in his mind like a churning water wheel until he finally reached out and placed a hand on her knee. She looked up, and he caught her eye with a soft look. “If he wants to be hated, don’t you think it’s a bit strange that he’s lived with you for so long without causing any trouble?”

Bulma opened her mouth, ready to dismiss him, and paused. She glanced down at his hand, and recognised the burly fingers and thick knuckles of a Saiyan. She cleared her throat. “I… I suppose—”

Goku slapped her knee, a little harder than what she was expecting. “Right? And if he was really dead set on being evil and being hated, he would have killed us all again when he had the chance!”

Clutching her wounded knee, she glared at him. “Goku! Don’t say it like that!”

“What? It’s true!”

“ _ I don’t care! _ ”

There was a sound, a high pitched squeak and a rumble, and Bulma frowned. Goku kept grinning at her, but a bead of sweat trickled down his jaw. With a sigh, she swept his hand from her knee, and started off towards the kitchen. “Alright, come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

“Gee, thanks Bulma, I appreciate it—it’s lunch time and I haven’t had anything just yet because of all the trainin’,” he explained, dogging along after her. He pulled a stool out, taking a seat, hunched over the kitchen bench like a gentle giant.

Bulma shrugged, pulling out some Vegeta sized portions of food from last night, and placing them in the microwave. “It’s no problem,” she said, pressing the button. The microwaved started, and she grit her teeth. “I’ve… been in a  _ relationship _ with him for a while now—I don’t know why—well, no, I do know why; I just liked it. He—he’s fun to be around I guess, and he’s surprisingly thoughtful.”

“Relationship? Like, you and Yamcha?” Goku asked.

The microwave went off and Bulma opened the door. “Jesus, why does everyone compare it to that? No, not like that. Yamcha and I dated and did things and went out, and it petered out as I got older and realised I was lonely and didn’t really have anything in common with him. We stayed together because—I guess we were both scared of what would happen outside it but no, Vegeta and I…” She set the plate down in front of Goku, and as well as a whole roll of paper towels, and he immediately stuck in. “I dunno. I just kind of fell into it; I had fun and I didn’t think it was going to be a long term thing until just out of nowhere I found myself planning my life around him—planning  _ years _ ahead in the future! What I was going to do after the Android stuff was over, if I could convince him to stay, even just… where I was going to put his clothes in my room—and that’s all terrible! I don’t want to trap him here, I don’t just want this planet to become another prison for him! Do you see what I mean? It’s just too hard.”

“Oh, wow,” Goku said, between mouthfuls. He wiped some gravy from the corner of his mouth. “Chi-Chi just decided we were in love and we got married.”

Bulma paused. “Yeah, she kinda did.”

“Well, I wasn’t plannin’ on any of that either, but I still liked it, and I realised it was what I wanted pretty quick,” Goku explained, taking a bite out of a piece of roasted sweet potato. “Anyway I think it’s fine! You’re really smart.”

“It doesn’t matter how smart I am, even the smartest people become idiots when they’re in...” she suppressed a groan. “...in love.”

Goku shrugged. “I dunno! Something tells me that it’ll be just fine!”

They settled into casual conversation, Bulma occasionally taking away Goku’s empty plates and dumping them in the sink before getting him something else. He told her what he’d been doing, the training, the techniques, how Gohan was progressing, what Chi-Chi had been up to with the house and the farm—it was all quaint, and fun, and in the rare sunny winter afternoon, Bulma relaxed a little more, and she enjoyed herself. It’d been… she wanted to say months, but she knew it was more like years, since they had sat down together as friends and just _ talked _ without everyone else around, and without the world ending.

The wind blew across the lawn, winter jasmine and swollen daffodils glowed gold in the sun. Bulma rested her chin on her hand, watching the resident blackbird dig through the undergrowth of the garden beds, a few stray clouds starting to knit together as the day wore on.

Goku pushed his plate away with a burp, and slapped his stomach. “Whew! Boy! Mama Briefs really knows how to make a meal that hits the spot!” He declared with a grin. He turned, and eyed the clock above the calendar. “Uh-oh, I didn’t realise I’d been gone so long—I should head back before Chi-Chi gets mad.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry! I didn’t mean to keep you,” Bulma said, remembering herself. She kicked the stool in under the bench, and darted around the other side to meet him, but stopped short of giving him a hug. It felt weird after this much time apart. “Thanks for coming over, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem!” He went to place his finger to his temple, and vanish, but paused. He gave her an odd look, and something worrisome flashed beneath his sunny smile. He caught her around the shoulders in a too-tight hug, and Bulma wheezed. “It’ll be fine, Bulma. I promise! It’ll get better, and I know you’ll make it through.”

Bulma worked to free her jaw enough to speak. “Thanks, but I don’t know, Veget—”

“It  _ will _ be! Just trust me on this!” He let go, but he still gripped her shoulders. “Just keep doing what you’re doing! You know what to do, and I know it’ll work out!”

Bewildered, Bulma stumbled back when he released her shoulders. With a big grin, he raised his hand to his temple, and was gone.

She blinked, and the outline of him still hung just faintly in the air.


	22. DAY 370

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is what happens when my mum rings me

Vegeta lay awake, eyes open and staring up into the dull red glow the control panels. Lights flickered, and something beeped quietly. Reaching behind his head, he adjusted the hard pillow. He tilted his head just enough to glance at the control panel at the front of the ship, sitting crowded around a squat dark pilot’s chair.

The screen looked normal; he’d piloted other vessels, and while this one was completely backwards in how it was laid out like the rest of Earth’s rudimentary technology, he could understand it well enough.

The smell of wildflowers and grass faded in his memory, and he rolled over onto his side.

He’d forgotten about the quiet of space. Every thought went off like ringing blast of ki, ricocheting on the curved insulated insides of a Capsule corp. brand ship. Space was days and days of unending silence, moving faster than sound and approaching light, and weeks unwound in unbearable slowness, without a knot or a twist in them. Every day started the same, and it started whenever Vegeta woke up, and ended whenever he crawled into the cramped bunk and collapsed.

Finally, he hauled himself out from the bunk, stretching his spine and shoulders. His ears pricked with every beep coming from the control panel. He approached, frowning, and tilted his head. The message light glowed, and a helpful line of text informed him he had an inbox of some kind, and that it was full.

Vegeta reached out, tentatively, hand hanging just over the button. After a moment, he pressed, and waited.

YOU HAVE TWO HUNDRED MESSAGES. FIRST MESSAGE. RECEIVED…

Vegeta frowned, drumming his fingers on the panel.

“ _ Vegeta! You shitty, little asshole jerk head from outer space! I can’t believe you took my fucking ship! Just wait until I get my fucking hands on you! _ ”

He stumbled back, hair on end, and flailed for the volume button. He found it and turned it all the way down, but the woman’s shrill voice still drilled into his brain.

SECOND MESSAGE. RECEIVED...

“ _ I hate you! You stupid fucking feral little dweeb! I never want to hear from you again! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! _ ”

Vegeta realised he’d been gripping the panel for dear life, and released it with a grunt. He went to slam the button off again, but the next message sounded.

THIRD MESSAGE. RECEIVED…

“ _ Ok. I’ve had some time to calm down now _ ,” the woman explained, her voice level, but no less potent. “ _ You’re still a goon, but fine. I guess you just need some alone time. I understand. Fine! I’m happy enough here by myself. I can finally have a vacation and stop working on that stupid Gravity Room of  _ mine _. _ ”

Vegeta scoffed. “ _ Your  _ Gravity Room?”

“ _ I’ve decided I’m going to take up other hobbies! I’m going to spend the last year and a half of my life being a rich, stamp collecting taxidermist travelling the world on my million dollar yacht! And I’m not going to touch the Gravity Room every again, I have given up being an aerospace engineer _ . _ Ciao! _ ”

FOURTH MESSAGE. RECEIVED…

Vegeta’s moan lengthened into a full on groan, and then a thunderous snarl. He made sure to keep his hands free of the control panel when the ki burst in his palms. He stalked off towards the centre of the ship, shoulders hunched, slamming his hand down on the panel for the gravity control, the hull going red. The artificial gravity cores roared into life, the steel room buckling under the pressure, the voice messages continuing to play.

“ _ You’ve been gone for weeks! Do you know how awful it is to just wake up one morning and find that your kitchen has been ransacked, your prized prototype ship stolen, and the guy who has planet destroying capabilities just  _ gone? _ Do you have any idea how worried I was? Jesus! You’re damn lucky I had everything set up for that ship, Vegeta, and that I can make sure it’s all running smoothly from Earth because if it had been even a few days before—! _ ”

She sniffed, her breathing hitching, and the message cut out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short one this chapter


	23. DAY 419

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry i deliberately avoided day 420 :(

Bulma sat wide awake, hunched over her laptop drafting up final blueprints for the latest Capsule Corp. pocket ship upgrade. She scratched away with the tablet pen at the screen, her ear phones blaring.

The lab lights had dimmed long ago, plunging the workshop into darkness; her projects and machines crouching like monsters in the shadows, a single lamp glowing over Bulma’s head. A collection of abandoned mugs of coffee littered the bench, along with a dozen plates of half eaten meals creating an awful museum of different kinds of mould and mildew.

Her head bobbed in time to the beat, her eyes heavy as she tilted the 3D model on the screen with a flick of her wrist. She glanced across at the handheld screen she’d been carrying around for the last few weeks. The screen remained black; no new messages from the ship. She’d gotten a few diagnostic reports, and it all seemed to be functioning perfectly, which meant that Vegeta was definitely receiving her messages—he was just not answering.

She pressed too hard on the screen, and the nib of her pen broke.

“Fuck!”

She threw down the tablet, pulling open a draw beside her and rifling through the contents. She pulled out an old box of spare nibs, and started the fiddly task of replacing it. Her tired fingers fumbled with the box and it slipped from her hands, and onto the floor.

“ _ Fuck _ !” She yelled, voice echoing.

Bulma threw her head back into the study chair. The music continued, and after a long while, she reached up and pulled her earphones free. Winding the cord around her hand, she let her gaze linger a little too long on the handheld off to the side. One look; it couldn’t hurt.

She reached out, unlocked the screen and pulled up the latest report.

**Air: fine.**

**Water: fine.**

**Fuel capacity: 86.7%**

**Power: 64.3%**

That ungrateful little twerp; he was probably using up half the power in those cores trying to train! Whatever, he could die for all she cared! She’d given him literally everything he could ever want and it still wasn’t enough. She scrolled a little further, and picked something out between lines of data.

**Message inbox: 193**

Her brow quirked. Quickly, she brought up the report prior to this, and scanned the swathes of text until she found what she wanted.

**Message inbox: Full**

She smiled, and coughed it down.

So… maybe he had been listening to her messages after all? That meant he was  _ deliberately _ not answering but—she followed the winding stream of her thoughts, between memories and eddies. If he didn’t want anything to do with her then he wouldn’t have listened to more than one, and if he didn’t care at all, he wouldn’t have even gone that far.

She opened up a new window, and hit record.

“Hi there,” she started, settling the handheld down beside her again, and reviewing her model. “Me again, obviously. Unless you have a whole host of pretty Earth women whose ships you stole.”

She pushed her study chair out from the desk, and bent down to grope for the box of nibs. “I know you’re not going to answer, because that would mean you’d have to acknowledge that I exist! And you’d much rather pretend that I didn’t so that you can be a big macho Saiyan who is too good for everyone—but I know you’ll at least listen to them because you can’t stand not knowing.”

To be fair, she didn’t actually know that, but if he heard that, he’d take it as a challenge, and prove her right anyway.

“I’m not going to berate you, or yell at you again, because I’ve said all I can say on the matter and there are only so many times I can call you a selfish, entitled shit before they don’t even sound like words anymore. So, instead, I’m just going to tell you about my day.”

She found the box, wedged between the heavy duty computer tower and a box of blue print papers. She got down onto the floor, still talking.

“Mum wants me to get into gardening, she says I’m spending too much time in the lab—she’s right, but that’s because I’m working on something really cool for a change, and it’s not for some shitty executive who can’t keep his eyes off my chest. I’m working on updating the ship you are  _ currently stealing _ into a more robust, and hopefully more advanced interstellar version. Dad’s plans are solid, he’s smarter and more experienced than me, but if I can just—figure out some kind of transwarp drive and stasis system like the old attack pods had, then I could potentially revolutionise space travel for Earth!”

Bulma sat back on the floor, grabbing her pen off the bench above her, balancing the open nib box on the end of her knee. She stuck the pen into the side of her mouth while she fiddled with the packaging. “I only saw them briefly, but it shouldn’t be hard! But I’m going off memory and guess work, so it’s taking longer than I want—I know I can do it, though.”

She paused, peering down at the new nib, and working it into the pen. Somewhere in the quiet of the lab, she heard the computers hum, the screensavers glowing in the gloom. The darkness made the room seem colossal, and the quiet more pronounced.

“Be careful with the power cores. They don’t charge very fast with solar power, you have to give them a rest for a few hours or a few days before you try training at whatever stupid fucking level you’ve decided to train at that would drain them to almost half capacity in under two months.”

She used the study chair for balance, she hauled herself upright, and went to hang up, but hesitated. The seconds passed, the red record button flashing, and it occurred to her that he would be listening to this thousands, potentially millions of miles away in space. She’d calculated how far he could go in the time he’d been gone—

“I—uh.” Bulma worked her fingers, hand shaking. “Y-you don’t have to tell me how you’re doing, and you don’t have to answer any of these. Not that I want to hear from you  _ anyway _ , jerk!”

She went to stop recording again, but her hand wouldn’t let her. She wanted to keep talking, questions and fears all clogging up her throat and vying to be spoken aloud. She gulped.

“I hope you crash into Ceres, it’s the largest asteroid in the asteroid belt and there's nothing there, but if you don’t crash into it, goodnight.”

She finally pressed the stop button, and the screen dulled. A few seconds later, the message processed, and a helpful dialogue box announced MESSAGE SENT. It was gone now, beamed across black and empty space to the onboard computer, where hopefully, someone might deign to listen to it.

She sniffed, and realised she’d almost started crying.

Idiot. Fuck him! What the fuck was  _ her _ problem? She knew this was going to happen eventually—it was obvious!

She had half a mind to record another message telling him to fuck off forever again but it wasn’t worth it. She locked the handheld screen, and stowed it away in her back pocket. The 3D model of a spaceship hull glowed on the drafting tablet screen, and with a low sigh, she saved it, closed the program, and unplugged the cord at the wall socket.

Bulma got to her feet, and her stomach rebelled. Nausea hit in a suckerpunch, and she bent over, grasping the bench top with a moan. She’d been feeling sick for a few days now. She’d chalked it up to how much work she’d been doing, and the meal skipping, but it wasn’t going away, even with the anti-nausea pills she’d popped the other day.

She waited, her gut churning, and after several long minutes, it passed. She stood up straight, and headed towards the lab door to finally go to bed.

She dreamed of circuit boards all night, following their copper wire paths and nodes, searching for the elusive answer. She saw the flashing lights and displays of the inside of the old Saiyan pod, she could see how the panels were laid out, how the displays measured power, fuel, speed, altitude. She saw how the pod worked, how the wires and cables and cores all came together in an elegant network of machinery that propelled it through space faster than any craft known to man. She understood its workings, she could see how it was all crocheted by some expert engineer’s hands but one piece was missing. One piece, she was sure.

Bulma tossed and turned, sweat pooling on the sheets.

If she could just get her hands on it, if she could just  _ see _ it better, and study it in the light she’d be able to understand it fully. She could use it to—

She woke with a start. Sunlight lanced between the blinds, falling across the carpet and balled up sheets at the end of the bed. The room smelled of something, sweat and something else just on the edge of memory—Yamcha’s old deodorant?

She rubbed the grit from her eyes, grabbing her phone off the bedside table. She sat up, and the nausea crashed over her head like a wave, dunking her. Bulma moaned, hauling herself out of bed, and stumbling into the ensuite.

The vomiting was becoming worse—but she wasn't getting properly sick!

Bulma gripped the edge of the toilet bowl, her hands white and shaking. The smell almost made her vomit again, and she quickly flushed the evidence away, lying back on the cool bathroom tiles. She frowned up at the lights, seeing stars, and scrunched her eyes shut; the blue-green ghost of it still burned on the inside of her eyelids. This nausea thing was getting old, she must have been due for her period about now—

“Oh, no,” she croaked.

She heaved herself up, stumbling back into the bedroom and snatching up her phone again. She opened the calendar, and started trying to figure out when her last period was. She never tracked it because it just sort of happened! She was too lazy to track something that she knew would happen at roughly the same time every month, and she could feel coming in the few days before it happened.

It was maybe two months since her last one, two or three. She hadn’t noticed it, she’d—

“Oh, fuck.”

She reached down, hand to her stomach.

_ Oh, no! _

She’d been taking the pill, though! The cogs in her brain worked, slinging out new thoughts and worries. Even 99% effectiveness still left a 1% margin for error. One in a hundred.

It’s fine. It’s fine!

It could be a whole host of other things; after all, she’d been stressed beyond belief, and she did skip periods when she was particularly engrossed and worried about a project, and hadn’t been eating right, and all that shitty food—that could easily explain the nausea, she’d been terrible with her diet lately and she’d been feeling bloated for a while.

Bulma dragged herself over to the closet, ripping it open and selecting a nice shirt and jumper, the anxiety knotting like vines in her gut.

She’d wait. If it was—if it was  _ that _ , then it’d be obvious in the next few weeks, she could sneak out and buy herself a test without anyone knowing it was  _ the _ Bulma Briefs of Briefs Family fame. She saw the magazine headlines in her mind’s eye, and balked.

No. She’d just have to wait, she couldn’t risk it getting out just yet. It might just pass, and she’d cause a fuss for nothing.

Bulma pulled on a fresh shirt, and wriggled into some old jeans. They were a little tighter around the hips than usual.

She’d wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks I'm still updating and I still have a fair bit I can upload, but I'm going to be slowing down a little since I am working on my original projects (That's right I do other things besides fanfiction) and I'll be away for most of July. I'll update again when I can!


	24. DAY 511

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mr sad man, bring me some sad,

Bulma ran her hands over his chest, and he shuddered. He couldn’t help himself. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and his hand gravitated towards the back of her neck. She laughed, and his stomach twisted.

“Are you alright?” She asked in the dark.

Mouth watering, he swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” he said. Outside the rain pelted the windows, and he knew that he could speak a little louder for once without fear of her vapid family hearing him.

She leaned forward, crouched over him, and he stroked behind her ear, pushing a few stray hairs out of the way in the process. She spoke, her voice as gentle as always, “don’t you think it’s weird?”

“What’s weird?” He pulled her closer, his other hand sliding under her shirt.

“I dunno, just us,” she said, kissing him.

He tilted his head for her, his hand daring to move a little lower on her hip. “You are bizarre, for sure,” he replied. “But I tolerate it.”

“It’s just that at one point in time, you did try to kill us.”

Vegeta pulled back, his breath catching in his throat.

She kissed his cheek and it was icy. “Why didn’t you?”

He gulped, staring up at the plastic stars across the ceiling. She lowered herself onto him, her chest against his own and he awkwardly touched her back. “Y-you were there. I had other plans; things changed.”

“You were beaten,” she said. “You could have destroyed that planet easily, and you didn’t. You were caught out, and paid the price—”

“Woman, this isn’t like you—!”

She grabbed his wrist, and he couldn’t pull away. Her nails bit into his skin, drawing blood, but he couldn’t throw her off him. “You’re a Saiyan. What are you doing wasting your time and energy on useless distractions? You jettisoned yourself into space and you don’t have the fortitude to not think about her for even a day?”

With a foreign strength, she pinned him, and her hands closed around his throat. He gasped, clawing at her but her arms didn’t give way. When she spoke, her voice warped, and it was someone else’s voice. “What are you going to do now? Cry? Sometimes I wonder if I should have sent you to another planet and not your brother!”

Vegeta woke, gasping.

The ship engine droned, humming in the dark, and the control panel lights flashed. He sat up, shaking, rubbing his throat and the memory away. Weak legged, he stumbled over to the sink, and poured himself a glass of water.

He’d been gone for weeks—months really. He emptied the glass, and slammed it down again, hunched over the sink. He’d plateaued, running headlong into the ceiling separating him from his owed Godhood, and held in place by the tethers on Earth. He’d cut himself free, but the wall remained.

Vegeta dumped the empty glass into the sink, wiping his mouth roughly on the back of his hand. Cold seeped in through the reinforced steel and insulated walls of the ship, the constant reminder that the only thing beyond the walls was the frigid embrace of dead space.

The flashing lights on the control panel drew his attention, and he tilted his head. The light indicating a full inbox on the ship’s onboard messaging system blinked, and he grimaced. He’d cut the other lines, but the largest and heaviest anchor still remained. He’d hoped that it would fray and at some point break on her end but it seemed he still had to make that final cut.

He approached the control panel, dragging his feet.

In the dark of the ship, the stars beyond the window became visible. Tens of millions of glowing pinpricks threatening to be swallowed by the dark, scattered like sand from some God’s lazy hand.

Vegeta’s hand found the control panel, and he pressed the worn button for messages, sinking to the floor.

THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY FIFTH MESSAGE. RECEIVED…

He pulled his knees up to his chest, back against the steel panelling.

“ _ I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me at the moment, I’ve been feeling off for a while, and it seems like it’s getting worse, but it’s very off and on… _ ” the woman explained. He could hear things beyond her words, the sound of her leaning in a study chair, and the clink of something metal, maybe a fork. Outside the stars shimmered. “ _ I even threw up! It’s stupid, must be indigestion. I’m not bothering to go see a doctor about it, I’m sure I’ll get over it, but it is just super weird. _ ”

“A medic would be wise,” Vegeta said, softly, staring out the port side window.

The message continued, and he listened in silence.

“ _ You know, it’s been maybe... two months since I last spoke to the others? I was thinking about it the other day. I think the last time I spoke to them was that reunion Yamcha had me organise because he couldn’t organise his way out of a wet paper bag. _ ”

He frowned. How did one organise  _ that _ , exactly?

“ _ I thought about it because I finally sat down and uh, made a countdown. I probably shouldn’t, I don’t like thinking about it, but I realised we were almost half way there, so it felt appropriate. Don’t want to wake up and forget! Ah, it was just silly. Anyway, I suspect everyone is just busy training, plus half of them don’t have phones and live in the sticks, but still, it hurts. I know it’s stupid to feel that way when we have bigger things to worry about, I don’t need you to tell me that. _ ”

A ghost of a smile crept across Vegeta’s face. The engines whirred quietly, and Vegeta dared to close his eyes, and imagine her.

“ _ You’re busy too. I know that. You’re just easier to annoy and I have a direct line. _ ”

He could conjure up a perfect image of her, messy hair, half smudged makeup, and ink stained hands; the way she looked at the end of the day, before she waltzed up from the labs complaining at the top of her lungs about whoever had irritated her today.

“ _ I won’t keep you. I can’t waste my life sending voicemails, and I’m sure you’re just  _ very _ busy draining the ship’s power cores by training at 300 times Earth’s Gravity and breaking all your fingers _ .”

This would be the last time, he decided. He let his mind wander, and pull up memories of her. Small things that would have normally slipped between the cracks but he found himself unable to forget. The way she held herself when she was pretending to be angry, the way her mouth twisted trying to hide a smile, and the irritating sound of her alarm every morning.

“ _ I don’t know what’s going to happen when you get back, and I don’t know when you’re planning to get back. I assume you’re still hell bent on beating the androids—but when you get back, well, I guess I’ll see you then. _ ”

“I suppose you will.”

“ _ Bye for now, jerk. _ ”

“Goodbye, woman.”

The recording ended.

Vegeta drummed his fingers on his knee, bumping the back of his head against the panel. He sat in silence for a long while, the crushing quiet and dark like the bottom of the sea. The stars trickled past, each burning point filled with enough fuel to keep it glowing for millions of years, billions even.

Getting to his feet, he stretched, and let the last image of her fade.

He reached out for the panel, and pressed a few buttons on the display.

MESSAGES DELETED. INBOX CLEARED. 

His hand hovered, hesitating before making the final plunge.

INCOMING CALLS BLOCKED.

Now he had no distractions, and the path towards ascension was clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, thanks so much for your comments! I haven't had a chance to respond to all of them bc i really just, have so much! I really appreciate it and I'm glad you're all enjoying it so far and sticking with me. Sorry for the short chapter today, I hope you all don't mind! I'll be off in New Zealand for three weeks and I won't be updating during that time. I've sort of put GTB on the backburner while I work on personal projects! (Which you can read as a google doc https://tinyurl.com/y35yzc2x , or on wattpad https://tinyurl.com/y3lgtbl4 if you are interested in my other non fandom related works)
> 
> Thanks again for reading!!


	25. DAY 569

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha nooo dont succumb to the inevitability of death your so sexy aha ;)

A storm rocked the planet’s surface, and lightning lashed between broiling clouds. A tempest buffeted the peaks and stony crags, willing to tear them down like paper but the last of the mountains stubbornly remained. The air was thin, and filled with that ever present burning smell that always accompanied planets on the verge of death; the smell of rotting rock.

Vegeta’s chest heave painfully, vice around his lungs. The lightning cracked again, illuminating the planet surface long enough for Vegeta to see the outlines of the toppled cliffs and the round edge of the CAPSULE3 ship.

This was it.

The thunder boomed, reverberating inside his chest cavity, threatening to tear his bones apart.

This was as far as the ship could possibly go—if he still wanted to return to Earth.

A bolt of lightning struck the nearest cliff, scattering rock and debris in a blinding haze. Vegeta braced, dust and gravel rolling off him. Everything burned. His insides, his limbs, his brain; his body teetered on the edge of death but this was not  _ his _ death. He knew that much. No prince, no  _ Saiyan _ , died in a storm like this. His blood had a greater fate, it was to be spilled in an even greater battle, the one that was owed to him since birth.

He forced his legs to move. They weren’t in splinters just yet, they could take a bit more of a beating—he kicked off, into the roaring wind and crackling air, the static clawing at his skin. He dodged another lightning strike, the light dazing him for a moment, but enough for the wind to hurl him into the mountain side.

Vegeta snarled, his vision blurry, his skin dark with dirt, blood and the ash from burned surface of this insignificant rock—the sort of rock he would have left in a smoking heap only years ago but was now struggling to hold his own against.

_ Idiot! _

He slammed his fist into the mountain, sending a fissure down its face.

He’d trained so hard, he’d taken so little time to rest, his body couldn’t recover, his energy reserves weren’t there—but he wouldn’t need them if he could just  _ force _ himself to ascend.

Vegeta kicked off again, and the mountain fell away with a crash, stones and boulders scattered by the wind.

Something struck, in the distance, glowing red and making the planet groan. He recognised the burning tail of a meteorite, sending rock and rubble up into the air in a fiery cloud before it was snuffed by the wind. The hairs on his neck prickled, and another meteorite; larger and faster, struck the planet to his left—something whizzed past his ear, and he barely missed it, and he turned his gaze towards the sky. The lightning flashed again, and more missiles pierced the atmosphere, hurtling towards the planet.

This planet barely had enough atmosphere to maintain breathable air, it had nothing to burn up space junk it wandered into.

_ No matter _ .

He drew on the last of his ki to shoot upwards, into the sky, knocking away a burning meteorite with a fierce backhand. He squinted against the sudden light, the wind still ripping at his flesh and trying to tear him downwards. The blast sent shock waves across the planet, melting rock and dust and ejecting it into the air.

More meteorites fell, travelling at thousands of kilometres a second but in slow motion for someone as fast as him. He could see each hit, feel every impact, and he saw his biggest challenge.

Fighting against himself was limiting; his body could only go so far, and no warrior could best him. That left only the universe itself, and all the power behind it. He stretched his ki, bit by bit, using a fraction each time to level a blast in a meteorite’s direction, blowing it to pieces, scattering it in a hail of burning embers. The storm raged, lightning and meteorites pummelling the planet’s surface, chipping away at it like scavengers at a corpse. Vegeta hurled another blast, and another meteorite vanished in a burning, white hot flash.

“Is that it?” He shouted, his words snatched from his mouth. “Is that all you have to offer?”

The wind howled, thunder clamouring.

Something shifted; he felt it across the whole planet. The clouds thinned, the lightning scattering, pushed aside by some unfathomable force—the hint of a curve grew on the horizon, reflecting the light of the distant star that this planet orbited. The clouds burst, and Vegeta’s stomach dropped.

A moon, twice the size of the planet he was on, it’s surface grey and marred, filled the sky. Meteorites continued to fall, and he realised that the moon’s surface was giving way, chunks ripped free by the gravity of his husk of a planet’s gravity.

The blood left his face, and his hands grew cold, shaking.

He raised a hand, palm towards the planet, but the ki wasn’t there. It fizzled in his hand, angry and blue but torn to pieces by the wind. A meteorite struck the planet, larger than the others, rocking the surface, the shock wave sending Vegeta flying. He plummeted to the ground and stuck the surface hard.

His body crumpled, his lungs crushed. He couldn’t do it.

He stared up at the moon, bearing down on him, on a collision course for the planet, like death itself rearing up out of the void to finally ferry him off to whatever distant plane he deserved. His vision swam, light and dark melding into one.

He’d failed.

He’d let a lowly wretch, cast out as a baby, defeat him. He could achieve the thing that Vegeta was owed with ease, while Vegeta lay broken on some dying planet’s surface, waiting for it to be consumed by a wayward moon.

Rage and shame swelled in his chest, violent as the storm overhead. His throat tightened. It wasn’t enough.  _ He _ wasn’t enough. Thousands of years of Saiyan bloodline ended with him, crushing his shoulders until he’d finally collapsed. His history, his ancestors, his pride all fell away like dust. He turned his head, enough to see the logo on the outside on the Capsule Corp. ship, dented, and pummeled— _ fuck. _

Vegeta hauled himself onto his stomach, coughing. The lightning flashed, the planet’s surface trembling with every meteorite impact. He went to crawl, and stopped, letting himself fall back onto the dust and gravel.

What would he do? Get in the ship and pretend this never happened? Live with the weight of this defeat for the rest of his days a coward? He was a coward for even considering it. There was nothing for him now. He  _ was _ nothing. If he couldn’t ascend to his rightful place, the thing that by all accounts only a Saiyan with royal blood could ever achieve, then what good was he?

“I don’t care anymore,” he whispered, to nothing, to no one. “I don’t care. Let it come.”

The moon glowed, growing larger with every passing minute as it closed in. The sound of the thunder and the blast of meteorites faded, and he saw the outlines of dead rivers across the moon’s surface, the prominent ridges ice caps clinging to it’s barren mountain ranges, a cheap imitation of Earth’s own.

An image of the woman rose unbidden in his mind, dragged up from the depths like a fish on a line—a simple image of her, covered in grease, her hair tied back behind her ears, and her overalls stained from where she had been caught up inside the bowels of one of her machines.

He tried to shake his head, to physically dislodge the memory from his brain but he couldn’t—his body refused. She was a distraction, Earth was a distraction, everything that didn’t lie directly on the path towards ascension was nothing more than trivial, foolish thought.

The moon inched closer, a thousand kilometres in a second.

He felt her touch on his arms, her hair against his shoulder; the softest thing he had ever touched—he had failed her too.

_ She didn’t matter! Nothing mattered except ascending! _

Another meteorite struck the planet, a shockwave billowing out across the surface in a blinding hot blast that burned his skin and singed his hair. He lifted his chin, just enough to see the black and white form of the CAPSULE3 ship. She’d given him everything;  armour, somewhere to train, technology that she had spent days and weeks perfecting so she could unveil to him, and he had taken it all in his journey towards Godhood. And then he’d  _ left _ her?

The moon loomed, close enough now that it had dislodged all clouds, that it had pierced the atmosphere. The blood pounded in his ears.

_ He did care. _

Vegeta bit back a cry, forcing himself up onto his elbows—

_ He  _ did _ care _ .

Something bloomed in his chest, a pinprick of ki in his heart that quickly grew to fill his ribs, to fill his chest, and between his muscles and bones. Waves crashed over his head, determined to drown him, and his vision wavered again. His heart raced, the pounding in his ears becoming louder, each wave of energy growing bigger. He grit his teeth, and clenched his fists, the blood gushing from his mouth.

His blood didn’t matter, his strength didn’t matter; his people, his history, his rivalry with a backwards low class wretch—none of that mattered. All that mattered right now was that he’d stolen that blasted Earth Woman’s ship, and he would never hear the end of it until he had brought it back in one piece.

The wave crashed over his head, and this time, he emerged on the other side.

He spun on the spot, rolling over, and the ki swelled, but didn’t stop. He thrust out his hand, aimed at the moon, and the ki that formed was potent.

It struck the moon in an instant, with a low, resounding boom and a flash of blue. It pierced the moon’s surface, straight to the core, and out the other side, the surface cracking under its weight. In dreamlike slowness, the pieces fell away, and the moon crumbled, great chunks sliding away into space.

Vegeta lowered his hand, panting.

The aura that whipped around his body glowed, like spun sunlight caught between his fingers. He sat up, and the weight on his chest lifted—he could breathe again, and breathe deeply.

He reached up, his gloves ripped and torn, and grabbed a lock of his hair, pulling it down to eye level. His black hair now glowed white gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone sorry for the long accidental break! I have been sick and then busy and then sick again and i finally decided to throw this up


	26. DAY 571

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha noooo dont call your baby trunks briefs as a joke your so sexy aha ;)

His hand worked it’s way around her middle, holding her close against him. Bulma felt him adjust behind her, working one knee between hers, his breathing hot and wet against the back of her neck.

“Are you sure?” He asked, nose against her shoulder. She felt him kiss her, and hold her a little tighter.

She laughed, and ground against him, making him jump. “Yeah, I am—please.”

He nodded, and thrust gently forward. Bulma groaned, and his grip increased again, his face buried into her shoulder. The arm he’d pushed up under the pillow flexed, and he worked it under Bulma’s side, holding her in place.

She grabbed the hand around her waist, and pulled it around her chest like a seatbelt, and he held her. She panted, hair sticking to her skin in sweat soaked strands, her shirt sticking uncomfortably to her back. She grabbed his hand again, and worked it up under her shirt, but he didn’t need any further encouragement to paw warmly at her chest.

“I’m here,” he grunted. He thrust forward again, careful, cautious. Bulma laughed, pushing back against him, encouraging him to pick up the pace. He spoke into her ear, his voice strained. “I’m here, now.”

“I know,” Bulma managed. Moonlight pooled across the sheets, slipping between the blinds and leaving slivers of unbroken light. He’s so warm, and he’s all hers. “Touch me.”

He broke rhythm for a moment, trying to work his hand out from her shirt but getting stuck. He cursed, suddenly flustered, and Bulma laughed, grabbing his wrist and pulling it free. This is what she loved, the funny and sweet inbetweens.

She placed his hand where she wanted it, and he kissed her neck. Closing her eyes, she leaned into him, his muscles pressed up hard into her back. She went to lift her leg, Vegeta hooking his hand under her thigh, and manoeuvring the other around to replace it. He pulled her closer, held tighter, his crown to her shoulder as he huffed.

“Is—is this alright?” He asked, voice hoarse.

Bulma tried not to elbow him, her knees trembling. She nodded, breathless. “Y-yeah! Yeah! You’re good, you’re so good!”

He gave a croaky laugh, kissing her. This was the only time he wasn’t concerned with being the strongest, or the most powerful—just _ good enough _ . She didn’t remember what she said, just that she arched her back, and she was hissing between her teeth all the love that had taken root. She told him he was handsome, that he was gentle, that he made her happy and content and proud—and he’d kissed her after each confession, his mouth hot against her ear, on the verge of speaking his own admissions.

“I love you,” he groaned, holding her firm. “I love you.”

Bulma woke, and sunlight lanced between the blinds. She sat up, looking down, and the sweat patch on her pillow told her she was still, indeed, pregnant.

She slumped back, dust swirling in shafts of golden light. She kicked her leg out to feel for another body in bed but there was nothing; just cold sheets. She cursed herself, and with a groan, swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached up to her neck, but there was no warm patch, and no memory of a touch. After a quick check of the diagnostics on her hand held, she pulled on a new pair of maternity pants and a shirt big enough to cover her entirely.

“Oh, here she comes!” Bunny called, looking up from the stove top, a bottle of pancake batter in hand. “How are you, sweetie?”

“Fine.” Bulma found herself unconsciously holding her stomach, like she feared it’d just fall off if she didn’t, and pulled a stool out with the end of her foot.

“No nausea today?” Bunny asked. She already had a tower of still steaming pancakes on the plate beside her—a Saiyan sized tower.

Bulma rubbed her eyes, and shook her head. “No, no. No nausea. I’m just tired.”

Bunny laughed, tossing her curls. “Well, of course, dear! Your body is working for two now! I thought you’d be used to it!”

True. She had been pregnant for a while. Bulma glanced down at her tummy, pushed up against the counter. Thank God it was still relatively small—‘ _ oh! Small and high! It’s a boy, I’ll bet,’ _ Bunny had announced one day when Bulma came down the stairs.

She glanced at the calendar above the phone. A red smiley face and a heart at the end of the month indicated the due date. She’d been both dreading it and desperate for it, she wanted to not be pregnant anymore for sure but a whole host of other anxieties gnawed at the back of her head.

He’d been gone for months, and he’d be gone for the birth too—not that Bulma particularly wanted him there.

Bunny slid a plate under Bulma’s nose, with toast, jam and fruit. She refrained from groaning. This spiteful little thing liked meat and that was all it wanted.

“I was thinking,” Bunny began, turning back to the hotplate. “What if I organised you a baby shower?”

“No.”

“Oh, dear, why not?”

Bulma adjusted herself, trying not to wolf down everything on her plate in two seconds. “I don’t want anyone to know. It’s just added stress.”

“Stress? Bulma, dear, you’re the one who’s going to be a mama,” Bunny tittered. She dumped another dollop of butter into the pan and it sizzled. “There’s no time like the present.”

“Mum! I am not telling anyone about this right now!”

The pan smoked, and Bunny cleared her throat, awkwardly. “You can’t hide it forever.”

“I know that! I just want it to come out on my own terms,” Bulma replied. She placed the fork down, trying not to let it clang against the plate. Bunny kept quiet, and Bulma, carefully, pushed the stool back out from under the island. “I don’t think I’m very hungry.”

“Oh, Bulma, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t give Bunny a chance to speak again, starting off towards the front door, and out into the garden. The palm trees swayed in a warm wind, the sky peerless blue. Bulma closed the door behind her firmly, setting off down the path around to the main entrance to Capsule Corp. She unconsciously held her belly, taking it slow. She’d gotten so used to it being there, all the movements were unconscious now.

As she made her way down the path, between the garden beds and under veils of flowering wisteria, she ran over in her head how the conversation might go.

_ Hey everyone, I know we haven’t seen each other in months, but here’s what I’ve been up to! _

She hadn’t told anyone mostly because it wasn’t anyone’s business—and besides, it would mean having to fess up about Vegeta, and that alone was enough to make her sick. Not because she was ashamed of him—but because she didn’t want anyone to turn around and blame him. She could curse him and denounce him all she wanted but she would be dead before she allowed one of  _ them _ to make a remark along the lines of ‘I always knew he’d do something like this.’

Bees hummed in the bushes as she turned and headed up towards the sliding glass doors of Capsule Corp.’s front entrance. A few lab workers greeted her as she passed, and she gave them stiff nods.

“Ms. Briefs! I… I didn’t think you would be in!” The receptionist called when Bulma waddled through the sliding doors. “Oh, wow, you’re huge.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking aware, thank you,” Bulma grumbled, stepping behind the reception desk and digging through the pigeon holes. She pulled out a few thick envelopes, and some paperwork. “Don’t tell dad I’m here.”

The receptionist paled, licking her lips. “Ma’am, are you sure you should be here? You should be at home—”

“This is my home.”

She flicked through the envelopes as she headed for the lifts. It was nothing extraordinary, mostly just approvals or rejections of designs and formal proposals.

_ Hey everyone, now, before you all get carried away, I’d like you to sign this non-disclosure agreement because what I’m about to reveal to you is top secret… _

She got out of the lift, and headed off towards her lonely lab. She pocketed the envelopes into her cardigan, and reached for her handheld in her jeans. It’d been hard to not check it every day, but she found the longer she left between checks, the easier it became, until she hadn’t looked at it in weeks. She shouldered open the door to her lab, her projects all covered in sheets and collecting dust. The cleaners still came down here to sweep and mop the floors but they never bothered to wipe down her tables or the tools, so everything had turned grey.

Bulma kicked the door closed behind her, leaning against the railing to get down the stairs. She set the envelopes on the table, and threw out the ones that didn’t look at all interesting. The placed the handheld down on the table top as well, it’s screen dark.

She pulled a stool over, and sat with a sigh. God, she didn’t know anything about being a mother, what was she doing?

“Well, let’s see how you’re going then,” she muttered to herself. She pulled the handheld close, flicking it on. She scrolled through several weeks worth of diagnostic reports, skimming for anything major. The last notification she had seen was the one telling her that voice messaging had been disabled manually.

Everything seemed normal, apart from that. The fuel was going down, and about a quarter of the way gone. He’d have to make his mind up about where he was going soon if he wanted to stay out there. She clenched her jaw, hand only a hair away from the screen. She propped the screen up against her monitor, balancing it carefully on it’s edge so that the tiny camera faced her. She opened up video, and hit record.

Sitting back, she regarded herself on screen for a second. Her face was gaunt, but flushed, the bones around her shoulders and neck sticking out awkwardly. She looked haggard.

“Hey,” she started, mind suddenly blank. “This isn’t going to be very long, because I don’t really know what to say. I’m having a baby—wow, that’s... really weird to say out loud.”

She laughed lightly, sticking her hands under her stomach. “If it isn’t obvious already, I’m due soon. I didn’t really know what to do when I found out; I like kids, and I really do, I just didn’t think I would be able to—have one. Anyway, uh, he’s a boy, pretty big too! Which is a bit of a worry, but it’s fine, I’ll just… load up on epidural—drugs, like painkillers, I mean, nothing dangerous. Um. He had a tail at first! For ages, and ages, and then it was just gone! Just like that! The doctors all thought it was bizarre!”

Outside, birds flitted between the palm trees and garden beds, and West City went on as usual.

“So, I already picked out a name, you don’t get naming privileges as you aren’t here and won’t be here for when he’s born, but I want to call him Trunks, mostly because it’s funny, and a cute family tradition. The hospital probably won’t allow that so I’ll call him something normal like Theodore or whatever on his birth certificate but his name will be Trunks.”

Bulma took a deep breath.

“I haven’t told anyone, and I’m not looking forward to it. I just want this baby out and gone. Anyway, I know you’re not going to watch this, and you may not ever watch this, but I just wanted to say thanks—you’re still a piece of shit, but thanks for being a good… guy—to me, at least. You’re the only person I would willingly have a secret baby with.”

She reached out for the stop record button, hesitating for a moment.

“And… also I guess if I don’t see you again—” the words caught in her throat, and she frowned, looking away from the screen. “I love you.”


	27. DAY 611

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Baby Come Back plays distantly in a sewer with rats squeaking]

Bulma tapped the end of her pen on her notebook binder. She only half listened to what the accountant said, as he flicked through his notes and papers, laying out the valuable ground made by Capsule Corp. during the last month. She stuck the pen between the binder rings, and did her best to keep herself looking interested, while paying the bare minimum of attention. She’d heard all of this before; profits didn’t drive her, she just wanted to make things—but the nature of having a company like Capsule Corp. meant that one had to be at least a little invested in the money side of things.

Her father said something, clearing his throat. “Bulma, do you have anything to add?”

She blinked, brain clearing. “Hm?”

“I thought you might want to say a little bit about the potential uses for the enhanced artificial gravity you’ve been working on,” he said, raising a brow at her over the top of his glasses. The twinkle in his eye told her he’d noticed her lapse.

Bulma cleared her throat. “Well, the only real world application of such technology would be for extended space travel—given how much weightlessness negatively affects the human body, I imagine most companies building spacecraft will line up for it.” She braced for the blank stares, and flashed a disarming smile. Everything she said would be obvious to even the lowest paid employee but hopefully it would be enough for them to get off her back—

A sound like a hundred canons went off, and the windows shuddered. Chairs scraped, and everyone jumped to their feet. Dr Briefs removed the pipe from his mouth and peered over the edge of the window sill onto the grounds, and blinked. “Oh, my,” he breathed.

Bulma shouldered between the accountant and the head of synthetic materials to get to the window.

“Could you get the engineering department on the ground?” Dr Briefs called to one of the scientists bolting out the door. “Thank you!”

“I don’t believe it,” someone said.

“That isn’t what I think it is, right?” Another asked.

More people rushed out of the office, and finally, Bulma caught sight of the grounds through the office window. Down below, between the palms and neat hedge rows, was a smouldering crater, and deja vu—

“You know, I don’t think he’s very good at landing,” Dr Briefs said, eyes wide.

A tremor started from Bulma’s hands, racing up her arm, to her shoulders, and her core. She felt the blood leave her face, and she turned and ran. She heard her father calling after her, but she skidded around the corner, heading for the stairs.

The employees surged from offices, confused and curious, some of them getting out from under desks as Bulma raced by.

“What’s happening Ms Briefs?” Someone yelled after her as she slammed her hand on the keypad for the doors.

“Homecoming!” She announced. “Stay inside!”

The doors of the main reception slid open, and the sun blinded her. She hopped on the spot, taking her heels off, before vaulting over the roses, and sprinting towards the edge of Capsule Corp.’s pristine grounds.

“Get out of my way!” A familiar voice roared. “I’m not interested in any of you, cretins!”

She ran faster, her heart pounding. Her eyes watered, and she hated herself for smiling. She’d been dreaming about this; ever since he’d left and she hated herself for it but she couldn’t bring herself to not smile right now.

She heard steel whine, and something crash. “Where is she?”

“Sir, you’re injured!” Someone cried.

“You’ll look worse if you don’t get out of my way! Where is  _ she? _ ”

Bulma rounded the corner, a stitch in her side and out of breath. The ship came into view, cracked like an egg, worse than the last time he’d crash landed. He’d come in too fast for some reason—

“Where’s who?” Asked one of the groundskeepers.

“Forget it! You’re useless! Get out of my way before I level all of you because the only person I’m looking for right now is that blasted  _ woman _ —!”

He looked up as she came to a stop, and her breath cut short. He looked the same, though his face was thinner, and his hair wilder—and in the beat between seconds, she saw his chest still, and his mouth curve.

“Bulma! Your stupid ship’s computers are faulty,” he announced. She shook her head, teary eyed, and threw her sensible black kitten heel shoe directly at his face. He swatted it aside, glaring. “ _ Hey! _ ”

“I fucking  _ hate _ you!” She shrilled.

“I only just got back!” He barked back.

She could have hugged him, she could have just  _ strangled _ him—Bulma rushed forward, and punched him square in the chest, and he ripped her hand away with a caustic look. “I fucking hate you so fucking  _ much _ !” She screamed, but the tears blinded her.

Vegeta threw her hand away. “I’m not exactly pleased to see you either, harpy!”

“Vegeta, my boy, you’re back!” Dr Briefs called, waddling over with his pipe in hand. He waved the other scientists off, and behind him, the hazardous waste disposal team approached in their rubber suits. “It’s been a long time!”

“I don’t care!” Vegeta yelled, before rounding on Bulma again. “Your stupid system crashed!”

“I sent you messages every fucking day!” Bulma continued, kicking his shin. He didn’t even wobble. “I sent you a message every day, and you didn’t even bother to tell me you were alright! You didn’t bother to respond at all! You do not fucking  _ ignore _ me for  _ months _ and get to order me around!”

“What the hell was I supposed to say?”

“ _ UM? I don’t know! _ ” She shrieked. “A simple: ‘hello, I’m alive’ would have been  _ a start _ ?!”

Dr Briefs quietly directed the hazmat team around the two of them, keeping his distance. Vegeta stepped out of the crater, ripping his cracked chest plate off over his head and dumping it on the grass. Bulma kicked him again, aiming for the back of his knees, but he caught her foot with his tail.

“Stop whining! As I said, your system crashed, so even when I wanted to respond there was no way for me to do so—now, shut up!”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ tell me to shut up, Vegeta! You have no fucking idea how angry I am, you’ve got no fucking clue what you’ve put me through—!”

“Would you shut  _ up! _ I have something to show you!”

He stood straight, his shoulders back, and something sizzled in the air. The words petered out in Bulma’s throat, the ki rippling out across the grass, shimmering in the air like heat off a road in summer, and grew. She’d seen him power up plenty of times, but this was something else, this was something that seemed to draw on everything around it, and Bulma felt it pulling on something in her bones, as if it was wrenching what little energy she had out of her and then his hair fluttered in an unseen wind.

She lowered her fist, and gaped.

She’d heard about it from the others; she’d heard Gohan and Piccolo and even Vegeta explain and describe how it looked, but she realised, quickly, that no amount of words could accurately describe the shock of black hair turning to burning platinum, or how the air almost boiled with a golden halo.

Vegeta cocked his head with a triumphant smirk. Time slowed, and everything outside of Vegeta’s aura became redundant. It really did glow, as if each hair pulsed with the energy leaching from his skin; even the hairs across his arms turned white.

“Impressed?”

Bulma’s hand moved, and she reached for his crown—just to touch it! Just to make sure it was real and she wasn’t imagining it. He dodged, catching her hand. “Stop that!”

His voice shattered whatever spell held her tongue and her free hand flew to her mouth to hide her smile. “You did it!” She exclaimed. “You really did it!”

He scoffed, and if she wasn’t dazed, she would have thought he was preening. “Of course I did! Would you expect anything less from the Prince of all Saiyans?” She didn’t know what he wanted, she didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but her crumpling in front of him, hands to her stomach as she laughed was not it. His grip on her wrist tightened, but not painfully as he snapped, “ _ stop laughing! _ ”

She shook her head, vision blurred from tears. “I can’t!” She wheezed.

“You can! You’re doing this on purpose!”

She covered her mouth to try and stop herself from honking. It was just too much. She didn’t know why it was funny, it  _ wasn’t _ ; but here she was, lightheaded and delirious. He was back! He’d been gone months on end without a hint of communication and the first thing he wanted to do after crash landing was show her his brand new trick—

She hauled herself up, using his grip on her wrist as leverage. The ki radiated off him, creeping down her arm from the point of contact. She threw her arms around his neck, and all the hair on her own head stood on end from the static. Vegeta froze, like the first time she’d ever hugged him on Namek.

For the briefest moment, everything was back to how it was.

Vegeta trembled, and at first she thought he might be laughing, but he shook, red faced, a kettle on the verge of blowing up. “Woman!” He thundered, and the present returned.

“Don’t ‘woman’ me, mister!”

“Oh, my! I can’t believe my eyes!”

The two of them spun around, and Vegeta’s hair went out like a candle. Strolling across the lawn towards them, in her desert pink and white hoodie, and fun but sensible jean capris, was Bunny Briefs, with a bundle of soft blankets in hand. Bulma risked a look in Vegeta’s direction, and saw his trembling grow, his face ghostly.

“Oh, Vegeta! Sweetheart! How nice it is to see you again!” Bunny crooned, Capsule Corp. Employees stepping well back. Bunny’s eye caught them both. “long time, no see!”

“Mum!” Bulma started, but Bunny turned to her, brows raised, and her smile became just a fraction sharper.

“Hmm? Bulma, dear! Why didn’t you tell me he’d come home?”

“I just got here!” Vegeta blurted, but he wasn’t looking at Bunny. His eyes had dropped, bloodshot and wide and wouldn’t leave the bundle in the crook of Bunny’s arm. He stepped forward, and hesitated. “What is that?”

Bunny seemed not to hear him, adjusting the blanket carefully, caressing a tiny, pink head. “His name is Trunks, honey.”

Vegeta shook his head, his mouth twitching, and pivoted on the spot to face Bulma. “What  _ is _ this? What happened?” Whatever fear or confusion had crossed his face when Bunny appeared vanished, and grew furious. “ _ Explain to me right now why whatever that thing is has a power level like mine!” _

A high pitched wail started, quiet at first, and then growing into a piercing keen, and Bunny tutted under her breath. Bunny tilted the bundle, ever so slightly, and two blue eyes squinted out from a chubby little face, and Bulma moved forward automatically. “Oh, no, Trunks! I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have been shouting!”

“Excuse me?” Vegeta shrieked, and Trunks screamed louder.

“Shut up! Stop  _ yelling _ !” Bulma bellowed over the top of both of them. “You’re only making it worse!”

Vegeta clamped his hands to his ears, pointing accusingly at Trunks. “Shut  _ that thing _ up!”

“ _ That ‘thing’ is your son! _ ” 

Vegeta went still again, along with every soul in the Capsule Corp grounds. A few seconds passed, and miraculously, the Earth didn’t split into a thousand pieces. Trunks wailed, pawing at the blanket around him. Bulma wrenched her gaze from Vegeta’s stricken face, and she took Trunks into her arms. She hauled him up, supporting his head, bouncing on the spot.

“When?” Vegeta asked, breathless.

“He’s two weeks today!” Bunny exclaimed, fussing over Trunks and adjusting his blankets again in Bulma’s arms. “And he is just the most handsome little man! Aren’t you just the cutest?”

Vegeta nodded, but didn’t move otherwise. Distantly, the hazmat removal team had started descending into the crater, removing the salvageable pieces of the ship, and sweeping the area under the careful eye of Dr Briefs. Trunks quietened down, settling, and Bulma turned back to Vegeta..

“You arrived just in the nick of time, Vegeta; I was just about to call everyone for lunch. You must be starving after such a long trip!” Bunny’s bell voice broke the quiet as she glided forward, her hand finding Vegeta’s shoulder. “Why don’t you join us?”

It was more awkward than the first time Vegeta had ever sat down to have lunch with them—which was saying something, considering how he had almost tried to kill them a few months prior to that first lunch. Now he sat hunched over on his stool, as close to the edge of the counter as humanly possible, eating unusually slowly, and carefully.

There was no talk. Even Bunny who could melt an entire room with a funny anecdote couldn’t begin to simmer up a conversation. They ate in silence, each avoiding each other’s gaze. Finally, Bulma pushed her plate away, and excused herself, her stool scraping across the floor. She turned, and her skin prickled at Vegeta’s heavy stare.

She got to the top of the stairs, and heard another stool kicked aside.

Bulma ignored the powerful feeling of being stalked, making her way down the hall, and pushing open a door labeled with a sweet pastel blue plaque that declared “BABY’S ROOM”. Behind her she heard heavy footsteps, muffled by the thick shag, and with a sniff, Bulma approached the edge of the bassinet.

Trunks slept soundly, his tiny fists balled up near his head—God, if only she could sleep like that for more than an hour at a time.

“Explain.”

Bulma turned her head slightly, just enough to see the scuffed up ends of his once white boots, and the tip of his very still tail. “Explain what?” She asked, turning back to Trunks.

The floorboards under the carpet creaked, and Vegeta moved to her side. “Don’t play dumb.”

“You left, I realised I was pregnant and you didn’t answer my calls,” Bulma replied, tersely.

“How?”

“What do you mean ‘how’? How do you think, smart ass?” She hissed. Trunks gurgled in his sleep, turning his head. “Your dick was in perfect working order but it didn’t cross my mind because I was stupid and I thought me taking contraception would avoid the awkwardness of asking you to slap a condom on!”

Vegeta stayed quiet, and she risked a glance in his direction. He scowled, of course, his brow tightly knit into a fearsome frown that would send lesser men running but there was something uncertain in his eyes, and in the corner of his mouth—

“Have you seen a baby before?” Bulma asked.

Vegeta’s frown fled in a panic. “Of course I’ve  _ seen _ infants before! I know what a child is, foolish woman! I’ve just never seen anything as small and weak as  _ that _ .”

Bulma turned to him, leaning on the edge of the cot. It was only a fraction, but Vegeta backed up. “What are Saiyan children like, then?”

Vegeta slammed his arms across his chest. “I don’t know, woman. I was a warrior, not a wet nurse and I left my planet’s surface as a boy! Copulation was discouraged among Frieza’s ranks and while I heard rumours of infantry becoming parturient, they were quickly dealt with and often not seen again,” he explained, hotly. “As for Saiyans, weak infants like Kakarot were sent to other planets to either die or grow stronger, and those with acceptable power levels were kept!”

Trunks stirred, and Bulma bit the inside of her cheek when he started to wail again. She reached into the cot, bundling him up into her arms while Vegeta blocked his ears. “Can you keep that  _ thing _ quiet for more than five minutes!?”

“Stop  _ yelling _ and he just might! Look!” She bounced on the spot, holding Trunks close to her chest, glaring over the top of his head at Vegeta. “I’m glad you’re alright and I’m happy you got your special super power, but frankly? I have bigger things to worry about now, and I don’t care what you do anymore.”

Vegeta paused, hands clamped to either side of his face, and when she turned to him, she dropped her voice to something deadly.

“You’ve been gone for months, you’ve been gone for almost a  _ year _ . I’m used to not having you around so if you want to fuck off into the desert or the mountains or into space again? Fine. If you want to hang around and beat the shit out of yourself in the Gravity Room? Fine. I don’t care, I’ll make due with whatever decision it is but unless you’re thinking of stepping up and helping me with the child  _ you _ helped make then I’m not going to hear any more of your complaining. Understood?”

He glared at her, and at the bundle in her arms, his poisonous sneer taking in every aspect of the room, the compound, and the planet in one foul look. He ripped his hands off his ears, shaking on the spot. She waited for the tantrum, but instead, his face twisted into an ugly sneer. “Good, I’m glad you see that there is nothing tying me to his pitiful planet either. It saves me from having to explain it.”

He left, and all the anger in her chest left with him. She slumped on the chair in the corner, and Trunks, slowly, stopped his crying.

**Author's Note:**

> hey so this is a little different from what I did with Grand Theft Bulma, in that I haven't actually completed this one so, there may be a little bit more time in between updates--BUT I'm hoping it'll be worth it. Also I just got sick of working on it and not being able to show anyone and I'm pretty happy with all the beginning stuff.
> 
> Other characters coming soon. If you were looking for like, an abusive Yamcha or whatever you'll have to see yourself out, and if you were hoping for an aggressive and sexually violent Vegeta you are also going to have to head towards the door because I'm like completely over that trope.
> 
> I'm a big lesbian and I wrote this like the big lesbian that I am.


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